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FREDERIC   WILLIAM    FARRAR. 


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THE 


Life  of  Christ. 


By  FREDERIC  W.  FARRAR,  D.D.,  F.R.S., 

Late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge ;  Master  of  Marlborough  College  j 
and  Chaplain  in  Ordinary  to  the  Queen. 


MANET  IMMOTA  FIDES. 


NEW  YORK: 
A.  L.  BURT,  PUBLISHER. 


PREFACE. 


In  fulfilling  a  task  so  difficult  and  so  important  as  that 
of  writing  the  Life  of  Christ,  I  feel  it  to  be  a  duty  to  state 
the  causes  which  led  me  to  undertake  it,  and  the  princi- 
ples whicli  have  guided  me  in  carrying  it  to  a  conclusion. 

1,  It  has  long  been  the  desire  and  aim  of  the  publishers 
of  this  work  to  spread  as  widely  as  possible  the  blessings 
of  knowledge;  and,  in  special  furtherance  of  this  design, 
they  wished  to  place  in  the  hands  of  their  readers  such  a 
sketch  of  the  Life  of  Christ  on  earth  as  should  enable  them 
to  realize  it  more  clearly,  and  to  enter  more  thoroughly 
into  the  details  and  sequence  of  the  Gospel  narratives. 
They  therefore  applied  originally  to  an  eminent  theologian, 
who  accepted  the  proposal,  but  whose  elevation  to  the 
Episcopate  prevented  him  from  carrying  it  out. 

Under  these  circumstances  application  was  made  to  me, 
and  I  could  not  at  first  but  shrink  from  a  labor  for  which 
I  felt  that  the  amplest  leisure  of  a  lifetime  would  be  in- 
sufficient, and  powers  incomparably  greater  than  my  own 
would  still  be  utterly  inadequate.  But  the  considerations 
that  were  urged  upon  me  came  no  doubt  with  additional 
force  from  the  deep  interest  with  which,  from  the  first,  I 
contemplated  the  design.  I  consented  to  make  the  effort, 
knowing  that  I  could  at  least  promise  to  do  my  best,  and 
believing  that  he  who  does  the  best  he  can,  and  also  seeks 
the  blessing  of  God  upon  his  labors,  cannot  finally  and 
wholly  fail. 

And  I  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  I  originally  en- 


i^  PREFACE. 

tered  upon  the  task,  and,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  hai^ 
still  persevered  in  it.  If  the  following  pages  in  any  meas- 
ure fulfill  the  objects  witli  which  such  a  Life  ought  to  be 
written,  they  should  till  the  minds  of  those  who  read  them 
with  solemn  and  not  ignoble  thoughts;  they  should  **add 
sunlight  to  daylight  by  making  the  happy  happier;"  they 
should  encourage  the  toiler;  they  should  console  the  sorrow- 
ful; they  should  point  the  weak  to  the  one  true  source  of 
moral  strength.  But  whether  this  book  be  thus  blessed  to 
high  ends,  or  whether  it  be  received  with  harshness  and  in- 
difference, nothing  at  least  can  rob  me  of  the  deep  and  con- 
stant happiness  which  I  have  felt  during  almost  every  hour 
thathas  been  spent  upon  it.  Though,  owing  to  serious  and 
absorbing  duties,  months  have  often  passed  without  my 
finding  an  opportunity  to  write  a  single  line,  yet,  even  in 
the  midst  of  incessant  labor  at  other  things,  nothing  for- 
bade that  the  subject  on  which  I  was  engaged  should  be 
often  in  my  thoughts,  or  that  I  should  find  in  it  a  source 
of  peace  and  happiness  different,  alike  in  kind  and  in 
degree,  from  any  which  other  interests  could  either  give  or 
take  away. 

2.  After  1  had  in  some  small  measure  prepared  myself 
for  the  task,  1  seized,  in  the  year  1870,  the  earliest  possible 
opportunity  to  visit  Palestine,  and  especially  those  parts  of 
it  which  will  be  forever  identified  with  the  work  of  Christ 
on  earth.     Amid  those  scenes  wherein  He  moved — in  the 

-"  holy  fields 


Over  whose  acres  walked  those  blessed  feet 
Which  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  were  nailed. 
For  our  advantage,  on  the  bitter  cross  " — 

in  the  midst  of  those  immemorial  customs  which  recalled 
at  every  turn  the  manner  of  life  He  lived — at  Jerusalem, 
on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  at  Bethelem,  by  Jacob's  Well,  in 
the  Valley  of  Nazareth,  along  the  bright  strand  of  the  Sea 
of  Galilee,  and  in  the  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon  —  many 


PREFACE.  r 

things  came  home  to  me,  for  the  first  time,  with  a  reality 
and  vividness  unknown  before.  I  returned  more  than  ever 
confirmed  in  the  wish  to  tell  the  full  story  of  the  Gospels 
in  such  a  manner  and  with  such  illustrations  as — with  the 
aid  of  all  that  was  within  my  reach  of  that  knowledge 
which  has  been  accumulating  for  centuries — might  serve 
to  enable  at  least  the  simple  and  the  unlearned  to  under- 
stand and  enter  into  the  human  surroundings  of  the  life  of 
the  Son  of  God. 

3.  But,  while  I  say  this,  to  save  the  book  from  being 
judged  by  a  false  standard,  and  with  reference  to  ends 
which  it  was  never  intended  to  accomplish,  it  would  be  mere 
affectation  to  deny  that  I  have  hoped  to  furnish  much  which 
even  learned  readers  may  value.  Though  the  following 
pages  do  not  pretend  to  be  exhaustive  or  specially  erudite, 
they  yet  contain  much  that  men  of  the  highest  learning 
have  thouglit  or  ascertained.  The  books  wiiich  I  have  con- 
sulted include  the  researches  of  divines  who  have  had  the 
privilege  of  devoting  to  this  subject,  and  often  to  some 
small  fragment  of  it,  the  best  years  of  laborious  and  unin- 
terrupted lives.     No  one,  I  hope,  could  have  reaped,  how- 

.  ever  feebly,  among  such  harvests,  without  garnering  at 
least  something,  which  must  have  its  value  for  the  pro- 
fessed theologian  as  well  as  for  the  unlearned.  But,  with 
this  double  aim  in  view,  I  have  tried  to  avoid  "  moving  as 
in  a  strange  diagonal,"  and  have  never  wholly  lost  sight  of 
the  fact  that  I  had  to  work  with  no  higher  object  than 
that  thousands  who  have  even  fewer  opportunities  than 
myself,  might  be  the  better  enabled  to  read  that  one  Book, 
beside  which  even  the  best  and  profoundest  treatises  are 
nothing  better  than  poor  and  stammering  fragments  of  im- 
perfect commentaiy. 

4.  It  is  perhaps  yet  more  important  to  add  that  this  Life 
of  Christ  is  avowedly  and  unconditionally  the  work  of  a 
believer.     Those  wlio  expect   to    find    in  it  new    theories 


yi  PREFACE. 

about  the  divine  personality  of  Jesus,  or  brilliant  combina- 
tions of  mythic  cloud  tinged  by  the  sunset  imagination  of 
some  decadent  belief,  will  look   in  vain.     It  has  not  been 
written  with  any  direct  and  special  reference  to  the  attacks  of 
skeptical  criticism.     It  is  not  even  intended  to  deal  otlier- 
wise   than  indirectly  with   serious   doubts   of   those   who, 
almost  against  tiieir  will,  think  themselves  forced  to  lapse 
into  a  state  of  honest  disbelief.     I  may  indeed  venture  to 
hope  that  such  readers,  if  they  follow  me  with  no  unkindly 
spirit  through  these  pages,  may   here  and    there  find  con- 
siderations of  real  weight  and  importance,  which  will  solve 
imaginary  difUculties  and  supply  an  answer  to  real  objec- 
tions.    Although  this   book  is  not    mainly   controversial, 
and  would,  had  it  been  intended  as  a  contribution  to  polem- 
ical literature,  have  been  written  in  a  very  different  man- 
ner, I  do  not  believe  that  it  will  prove  wholly  valueless  to 
any  honest  doubter,  who  reads  it  in  a  candid   and  uncon- 
temptuous  spirit.     Hundreds  of  critics,  for  instance,  have 
impugned  the  authority  of  the  Gospels  on  the  score  of  the 
real  or  supposed  contradictions  to  be  found  in  them.    I  am 
of   course   familiar  with   such   objections,  which    may  be 
found  in  all  sorts  of  books,  from  Strauss'  Lehen  Jesu  and 
Kenan's  Vie  de  Jesus,  down  to  Sir  R.  Hanson's  Jesus  of 
History,  and  the  English  Life  of  Jesus  by   Mr.   Thomas 
Scott.     But,  while  I  have  never  consciously  evaded  a  dis- 
tinct and  formidable  difficulty,  I  have  constantly   endeav- 
ored to  show,  by  the  mere  silent  course  of  the  narrative 
itself,  that  many  of  these  objections  are  by  no  means  in- 
superable, and  that   many   more  are  unfairly  captious  or 
altogether  fantastic. 

5.  If  there  are  questions  wider  and  deeper  than  the  mi- 
nutife  of  criticism,  into  which  I  have  not  fully  and 
directly  entered,  it  is  not  either  from  having  neglected  to 
weigh  the  arguments  respecting  them,  or  from  any  unwil- 
lingness to  state  the  reasons  why,  in  common  with  tens  of 


PREFACE.  vii 

thousands  who  are  abler  and  wiser  than  myself,  I  can  still 
say  respecting  every  fundamental  doctrine  of  the  Christian 
faith,  Maxet  immota  fides.  Writing  as  a  believer  to 
believers,  as  a  Christian  to  Christians,  surely,  after  nearly 
nineteen  centuries  of  Christianity,  any  one  may  be  allowed 
to  rest  a  fact  of  the  Life  of  Jesus  on  the  testimony  of  St. 
John  without  stopping  to  write  a  volume  on  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  Fourth  Gospel  ;  or  may  narrate  one  of  the 
Gospel  miracles  without  deeming  it  necessary  to  answer 
all  the  arguments  which  have  been  urged  against  the  possi- 
bility of  the  supernatural.  After  the  long  labors,  the 
powerful  reasoning,  and  the  perfect  historical  candor  with 
which  this  subject  has  been  treated  by  a  host  of  apologists, 
it  is  surely  as  needless  as  it  is  impossible  to  lay  again,  on 
every  possible  occasion,  the  very  lowest  foundations  of  our 

faith. 

Nor  have  I  left  the  subject  of  the  credibility  of  miracles 
and  the  general  authenticity  of  the  Gospel  narratives  en- 
tirely untouched,  although  there  was  the  less  need  for  my 
entering  fully  upon  those  questions  in  the  following  pages, 
from  my  having  already  stated  elsewhere,  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  the  grounds  of  my  belief.  The  same  remark  ap- 
plies to  the  yet  more  solemn  truth  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ. 
That — not  indeed  as  surrounded  with  all  the  recondite  in- 
quiries about  the  neptxooprjdi'i  or  communicatio  iiliomatum, 
the  hypostatic  union,  the  abstract  impeccability,  and  such 
scholastic  formulae,  but  in  its  broad  Scriptural  simplicity — 
was  the  subject  of  the  Hulsean  Lectures  before  the  Univer- 
sity of  Cambridge  in  the  year  1870.  In  those  lectures  I 
endeavored  to  sketch  what  has  ever  seemed  to  my  mind 
the  most  convincing  external  evidence  of  our  faith,  namely, 
"  Tlie  Witness  of  History  to  Christ  "  Those  who  have  re- 
jected the  creed  of  the  Church  in  this  particular,  approach 
the  subject  from  a  totally  opposite  point  to  our  own.  They 
read  the  earlier  chapters  of  St.  Luke  and  St.  Matthew,  and 


viii  PRKFAGE. 

openly  marvel  that  any  mind  can  believe  what  to  them  ap- 
pears to  be  palpable  mythology;  or  they  hear  the  story  of 
one  of  Christ's  miracles  of  power — the  walking  on  the  Sea 
of  Galilee,  or  turning  the  water  into  wine — and  scarcely 
conceal  their  insinuated  misgiving  as  to  honesty  of  those 
who  can  accept  such  naratives  as  true.  Doubtless  we  should 
share  their  convictions  in  these  respects,  if  we  approached 
the  subject  in  the  same  spirit  and  by  tiie  same  avenues. 
To  show  that  we  do  not  and  why  we  do  not  so  approach  it, 
is — incidentally  at  least — one  of  the  objects  of  this  book. 

The  skeptic — and  let  me  here  say  at  once  that  I  hope  to 
use  no  single  word  of  anger  or  denunciation  against  a  skep- 
ticism which  I  know  to  be  in  many  cases  perfectly  honest 
and  self-sacrificingly  noble — approaches  the  examination 
of  the  question  from  a  point  of  view  the  very  opposite  to 
that  of  the  believer.  He  looks  at  the  majestic  order  and 
apparently  unbroken  uniformity  of  Law,  until  the  Uni- 
verse becomes  to  him  but  the  result  mechanically  evolved 
from  tendencies  at  once  irreversible  and  self-originated. 
To  us  such  a  conception  is  wholly  inconceivable.  Law  to 
us  involves  the  necessity  of  postulating  a  Law-giver,  and 
*' Nature,"  which  we  only  use  as  an  unscientific  and  im- 
aginative synonym  for  the  sum  total  of  observed  phe- 
nomena, involves  in  our  conceptions  the  Divine  Power  of 
whose  energy  it  is  but  the  visible  translucence.  We  be- 
lieve that  the  God  and  Creator  of  "Nature"  has  made 
Himself  known  to  us,  if  not  by  a  primitive  intuition,  at 
any  rate  by  immediate  revelation  to  our  hearts  and  con- 
sciences. And  therefore  such  narratives  as  those  to  which 
I  have  alluded  are  not  nakedly  and  singly  pi-esented  to  us 
in  all  their  unsupported  and  startling  difficulty.  To  us 
tliey  are  but  incidental  items  in  a  faith  which  lies  at  the 
very  bases  of  our  being — they  are  but  fragments  of  thivt 
great  whole  which  comprises  all  that  is  divine  and  myste- 
rious and  supernatural  in  the  two  great  words,  ChrisLiuuity 


PREFACE.  ix 

aiul   Christendom.      And   hence,    though   we   no    longer 
prominently  urge  the  miracles  of  Christ  as  the  proofs  of 
our  religion,  yet,  on  the  otlier  hand,  we  cannot   regard 
them  as   stumbling-blocks   in  the   path    of  an    historical 
belief.     We  study  the  sacred   books   of  all  the  great  re- 
ligions of  the  world  ;  we  see  the  effect  exercised  by  those 
religions  on  the  minds  of  their  votaries;  and  in  spite  of  all 
the  truths  which  even  the   worst  of  them  enslirined,  we 
■watch  tlie  failure  of   them  all  to  produce  the  inestimable 
blessings   wliich  we  have  ourselves  enjoyed   from  infancy, 
which  we  treasure  as  dearly  as  our  life,  and    which   we  re- 
gard us  solely  due  to  the  spread   and  establishment  of  the 
faith  we  hold.     We  read  the  systems  and  tieatises  of  an- 
cient philosophy,  and  in  spite  of   all  the  great  and  noble 
elements  m  which  they  abound,  we  see  their  total  incapac- 
ity to   console,  or   support,  or   deliver,  or   regenerate   the 
world.     Then  we  see  tiie    light   of    Christianity  dawning 
like  a  tender  day-spring  amid  the  universal  and  intolerable 
darkness.     From  the  first,  that   new    religion  allies  itself 
with  the  world's  utter  feebleness,  and  those  feeblenesses  it 
shares;  yet  without  wealth,  without  learning,  without  gen- 
ius, without  arms,  without  anything  to  dazzle  and  attract — 
the  religion  of  outcasts  and  exiles,  of  fugitives  and  prison- 
ers— numbering  among  its  earliest  converts  not  many  wise, 
not  many  noble,  not  many  mighty,  but  such  as  the  gaoler  of 
Philippi,  and  the  runaway  slave  of  Colossse — with  no  bless- 
ing apparently  upon  it  save  such  as  cometh  from  above — with 
no  light  whatever  about  it  save  the  light  that  comes  from 
heaven — it  puts  to  flight  kings  and  their  armies;  it  breathes 
a  new  life  and  a  new  hope  and  a  new  and  unknown  holi- 
ness into  a  guilty  and   decrepit  world.     This  we  see;  and 
we  see  the  work  grow,  and  increase,  and  become  more  and 
more  irresistible,  and  spread  "  with  tlie  gentleness  of  a  sea 
that  caresses  the  shore  it  covers."     And  seeing  this,  we  re- 
call    the    faithful    principle    of    the    wise    and    tolerant 


X  PREFACE. 

Rabbi,  uttered  more  than  1,800  years  ago — *'  If  this  coun- 
sel or  this  work  be  of  men,  it  will  come  to  naught;  but  if 
it  be  of  God,  ye  cannot  overthrow  it,  lest  haply  ye  be  found 
to  fight  against  God  "  (Acts  v.  38,  39). 

And  when  we  have  thus  been  led  to  see  and  believe  that 
the  only  religion  in  the  world  which  has  established  the 
ideal  of  a  perfect  holiness,  and  rendered  common  the  at- 
tainment of  that  ideal,  has  receive*!  in  conspicuous  meas- 
ure the  blessing  of  God,  we  examine  its  truths  with  a 
deeper  reverence.  The  record  of  these  truths — the  record 
of  that  teaching  which  made  them  familiar  to  the  world — 
we  find  in  the  Gospel  narrative.  And  that  narrative 
reveals  to  us  much  more.  It  not  only  furnishes  us 
with  an  adequate  reason  for  the  existence  and  for  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  faith  we  hold,  but  it  also  brings  home  to  us 
truths  which  affect  our  hearts  and  intellects  no  less  power- 
fully than  "  the  starry  heavens  above  and  the  moral  law 
within,'*'  Taught  to  regard  ourselves  as  children  of  God, 
and  common  brothers  in  His  great  family  of  man,  we  find 
in  the  Gospels  a  revelation  of  God  in  His  Son,  which  en- 
ables us  to  know  Him  more,  and  to  trust  Him  more  abso- 
lutely, and  to  serve  Him  more  faithfully,  than  all  which  we 
can  find  in  all  the  other  books  of  God,  whether  in  Scrip- 
ture or  history,  or  the  experiences  of  life,  or  those  unseen 
messages  which  God  has  written  on  every  individual  heart. 
And  finding  that  this  revelation  has  been  recorded  by  hon- 
est men  in  narratives  which,  however  fragmentary,  appear 
to  stand  the  test  of  history,  and  to  bear  on  the  face  of  them 
every  mark  of  transparent  simplicity  and  perfect  truthful- 
ness— prepared  for  the  reception  of  these  glad  tidings  of 
God's  love  in  man's  redemption  by  the  facts  of  the  world 
without,  and  the  experiences  of  the  heart  within — we  thus 
cease  to  find  any  overwhelming  difficulty  in  the  record  that 
He  whom  we  believe  to  be  the  Son  of  God — He  who  alone 
has  displayed  on  earth  the  transcendent  miracle  of  a  sinless 


PREFACE.  xi 

life—should  have  walked  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee  or  turned 
the  water  into  wine. 

And  when  we  thus  accept  the  truth  of  the  miracles  they 
become  to  us  moral  lessons  of  the  profoundest  value.  In 
considering  the  miracles  of  Jesus  we  stand  in  a  wholly  dif- 
ferent position  to  the  earlier  disciples.  To  them  the  evi- 
dence of  the  miracles  lent  an  overwhelmina:  force  to  the 
teachings  of  the  Lord  ;  they  were  as  the  seal  of  God 
to  the  proclamation  of  the  new  kingdom.  But  to  us  who, 
for  nineteen  centuries,  have  been  children  of  that  king- 
dom, such  evidence  is  needless.  To  the  Apostles  they 
were  tlie  credentials  of  Christ's  mission;  to  us  they  are  but 
fresh  revelations  of  His  will.  To  us  they  are  works  rather 
than  signs,  revelations  rather  than  portents.  Their  his- 
torical importance  lies  for  us  in  the  fact  that  without  them 
it  would  be  impossible  to  account  for  the  origin  and 
spread  of  Christianity.  We  appeal  to  them  not  to  prove 
the  truth  of  Christianity,  but  to  illustrate  its  dissemination. 
But  though  to  us  Christitinity  rests  on  the  basis  of  a  Divine 
approval  far  more  convincing  than  the  display  of  super- 
natural power  —  though  to  us  the  providence  which  for 
these  two  millenniums  has  ruled  the  destinies  of  Christen- 
dom is  a  miracle  far  more  stupendous  in  its  evidential 
force  than  the  raising  of  the  dead  or  the  enlightenment 
of  the  blind — yet  a  belief  in  these  miracles  enables  us  to 
solve  problems  which  would  otherwise  be  unsolvable,  as 
well  as  to  embrace  moral  conceptions  which  would  other- 
wise have  found  no  illustration.  To  one  who  rejects 
them — to  one  who  believes  that  the  loftiest  morals  and  the 
divinest  piety  which  m.ankind  has  ever  seen  were  evoked 
by  a  religion  which  rested  on  errors  or  on  lies  —  the  world's 
history  must  remain,  it  seems  to  me,  a  hopeless  enigma  or 
a  revolting  fraud. 

6.  Referring  to  another  part  of  the  subject,  I  ought  to 
say  I  do  not  regard  as  possible  any   final   harmony  of  the 


xii  PREFACE. 

Gospels.  Against  any  harmony  which  can  be  devised 
some  phiusible  objection  could  be  urged.  On  this  subject 
no  two  writers  have  ever  been  exactly  agreed,  and  this 
alone  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  Gospel  notices  of  chro- 
nology are  too  incomplete  to  render  certainty  attainable. 
I  have,  of  course,  touched  directly,  as  well  as  indirectly, 
ou  such  questions  as  tlie  length  of  the  ministry ;  and 
wherever  the  narrative  required  some  clear  and  strong 
reason  for  adopting  one  view  rather  than  another  on  some 
highly  disputed  point,  I  have  treated  the  question  as  full}' 
as  was  consistent  witli  brevity,  and  endeavored  to  put  the 
reader  in  possession  of  tiie  main  facts  and  arguments  on 
which  the  decision  rests.  But  it  would  have  been  equally 
unprofitable  and  idle  to  encumber  my  pages  with  endless 
controversy  on  collateral  topics  which,  besides  being 
dreary  and  needless,  are  such  as  admit  of  no  final  settle- 
ment. In  deciding  upon  a  particular  sequence  of  events, 
we  can  only  say  that  such  a  sequence  appears  to  us  a  prob- 
able one,  not  by  any  means  that  we  regard  it  as  certain. 
In  every  instance  I  have  carefully  examined  the  evidence 
for  myself,  often  compressing  into  a  few  lines,  or  even  into 
an  incidental  allusion,  the  results  of  a  long  inquiry.  To 
some  extent  I  agree  with  8tier  and  Lange  in  the  order  of 
events  which  they  have  adopted,  and  in  this  respect,  as 
well  as  for  my  fii'st  insight  into  the  character  of  several 
scenes,  I  am  perhaps  more  indebted  to  the  elaborate  work 
of  Lange  than  to  any  others  who  have  written  on  the  same 
subject.  When  an  author  is  writing  from  the  results  of 
independent  thought  on  the  sum  total  of  impressions  formed 
during  acourse  of  study,  it  is  not  always  possible  to  acknowl- 
edge specific  obligations  ;  but  whenever  I  was  consciously 
indebted  to  others,  I  have,  throughout  the  book,  referred 
(^'5pecially  to  Ewald,  Neander,  Schenkel,  Strauss.  Hase, 
Sepp,  8tier,  Ebrard,  Wieseler,  llofmann,  Koini,  Caspari, 
Ulluuinn,  Delitzsch,   De  Pressense,    Wallon,    Dupanloup, 


PREFACE.  xiii 

Capecelatro,  Ellicott,  Young,  Andrews,  Wordswortli, 
Alford,  and  many  others  ;  as  well  as  to  older  writers  like 
Bonaventura  and  Jeremy  Taylor.  I  have  also  to  acknowl- 
edge the  assistance  which  1  have  gained  from  the  writings 
of  Dean  Stanley,  Canons  Lightfoot  and  Westcott,  Profes- 
sor Plumptre,  Dr.  Ginsburg,  Mr.  Grove,  and  the  authors 
of  articles  in  the  Encyclopaedias  of  Ersch  and  Grube,  Her- 
zog,  Zeller,  Winer,  and  Dr.  W.  Smith.  Incidental  lights 
have,  of  course,  been  caught  from  various  archaBological 
treatises,  as  well  as  works  of  geography  and  travel,  from 
the  old  Itineraries  and  Reland  down  to  Dr.  Thomson's 
Land  aiid  Book,  and  Mr.  Hep  worth  Dixon's  Holy  Land. 
7.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  this  book  is  almost  wholly 
founded  on  an  independent  study  of  the  four  Gospels  side 
by  side.  In  quoting  from  them  I  have  constantly  and 
intentionally  diverged  from  the  English  version,  because 
my  main  object  has  been  to  bring  out  and  explain  the 
scenes  as  they  are  described  by  the  original  witnesses.  The 
minuter  details  of  those  scenes,  and  therewith  the  accuracy 
of  our  reproduction  of  them,  depend  in  no  small  degree 
upon  the  discovery  of  the  true  reading,  and  the  delicate 
observance  of  the  true  usage  of  words,  particles,  and 
tenses.  It  must  not  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that 
I  offer  these  translations — which  are  not  unfrequently 
paraphrases — as  preferable  to  those  of  the  English  version, 
but  only  that,  consistently  with  the  objects  Avhicli  I  had 
in  view,  I  have  aimed  at  representing  vi'ith  more  rigid 
accuracy  the  force  and  meaning  of  the  true  text  in  the 
original  Greek.  It  will  be  noticed  that  in  most  of  my 
quotations  from  the  Gospels  I  do  not  slavishly  follow  the 
English  version,  but  translate  from  the  original  Greek.  It 
will  be  seen  too  that  I  have  endeavored  to  glean  in  illus- 
tration all  that  is  valuable  or  trustworthy  in  Josephus,  in 
the  Apocryphal  Gospels,  and  in  traditional  particulars 
derived  from  the  writings  of  the  Fathers. 


xiv  PREFACE. 

8.  Some  readers  will  pcrliaps  bo  surprised  by  the 
frequency  of  the  allusions  to  Jewish  literature.  Without 
embarking  on  "the  sea  of  the  Talmud"  (as  the  Rabbis 
themselves  call  it)  —  a  task  which  would  require  a  lifetime 
— a  modern  reader  may  find  not  only  the  amplest  materials, 
but  probably  all  the  materials  it  can  offer  for  the  illus- 
tration of  the  Gospel  history,  in  the  writings  not  of 
Christians  only,  but  also  of  learned  and  candid  Rabbis. 
Not  only  in  the  well-known  treatises  of  Lightfoot, 
Schottgen,  Surenhuys,  Wagenseil,  Biixtorf,  Otho,  Reland, 
Budseus,  Gfrorer,  Herzfeld,  McCanl,  Etheridge,  but  also 
in  those  of  Jews  by  birth  or  religion,  or  both,  like  Geiger, 
Jost,  Gratz,  Derenbourg,  Munk,  Fraukl,  Deutsch,  Raphall, 
Schwab,  Cohen,  any  one  may  find  large  quotations  from 
the  original  authorities  collected  as  well  by  adversaries  as 
by  reverent  and  admiring  students.  Further,  he  may  read 
the  entire  Mishna  (if  he  have  the  time  and  patience  to  do 
so)  in  the  Latin  version  of  Sui'euhusius,  and  may  now  form 
his  judgment  respecting  large  and  important  treatises  even 
of  the  Gemara,  from  such  translations  as  the  French  one 
of  the  Berachotli  by  M.  Moi'se  Schwab.  I  have  myself 
consulted  all  the  authorities  here  named,  and  have  gained 
from  them  much  information  which  seems  to  me 
eminently  useful.  Their  researches  have  thrown  a  flood 
of  light  on  some  parts  of  the  Gospels,  and  have  led  me  to 
some  conclusions  which,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  are  new. 
Nothing  of  the  slightest  importance  can  be  gleaned  from 
the  Talmudists  about  our  Lord  Himself.  The  real  value 
of  the  Rabbinic  writings  in  illustrating  the  Gospels  is 
indirect,  not  direct — archgeological,  not  controversial. 
The  light  which  they  throw  on  the  fidelity  of  the  Evan- 
gelists is  all  the  more  valuable  because  it  is  derived  from  a 
source  so  unsuspected  and  so  hostile. 

9.  If  in  any  part  of  tliis  book  I  have  appeared  to  sin  against 
the  divine  law  of  charity,  1  must  here  ask  pardon  for  it. 


PREFACE.  XV 

But  at  least  I  may  say  that  whatever  trace  of  asperity  may 
be  found  in  any  page  of  it,  has  never  been  directed  against 
men.,  but  against  principles,  or  only  against  those  men  or 
classes  of  men  in  long-past  ages  whom  we  solely  regard  as 
the  representatives  of  principles.  It  is  possible  that  this 
book  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  Jewish  readers,  and 
to  these  particularly  I  would  wish  this  remark  to  be 
addressed.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  Jewish  race 
have  long  since  learned  to  look  with  love  and  reverence  on 
Him  whom  their  fathers  rejected  ;  nay,  more,  that  many 
of  them,  convinced  by  the  irrefragable  logic  of  history, 
have  openly  acknowledged  that  He  was  indeed  their 
promised  Messiah,  although  they  still  reject  the  belief  in 
His  divinity.  I  see,  in  the  writings  of  many  Jews,  a  clear 
conviction  that  Jesus,  to  whom  they  have  quite  ceased  to 
apply  the  terms  of  hatred  found  in  the  Talmud,  was  at 
any  rate  the  greatest  religious  Teaclier,  the  highest  and 
noblest  Prophet  whom  their  race  produced.  They,  there- 
fore, would  be  the  last  to  defend  that  greatest  crime  in 
history — the  Crucifixion  of  the  Son  of  God.  And  while 
no  Christian  ever  dreams  of  visiting  upon  them  the  horror 
due  to  the  sin  of  their  ancestors,  so  no  Jew  will  charge  the 
Christians  of  to-day  with  looking  with  any  feeling  but 
that  of  simple  abhorrence  on  the  long,  cruel,  and  infamous 
persecutions  to  which  the  ignorance  and  brutality  of  past 
ages  have  subjected  their  great  and  noble  race.  We  may 
humbly  believe  that  the  day  is  fast  approaching  when  He 
whom  the  Jews  crucified,  and  whose  divine  revelations  the 
Christians  have  so  often  and  so  grievously  disgraced,  will 
break  down  the  middle  wall  of  partition  between  them, 
and  make  both  races  one  in  religion,  in  heart,  and  life — 
Semite  and  Aryan,  Jew  and  Gentile,  united  to  bless  and 
to  evangelize  the  world. 

10.   One    task    alone    remains — the    pleasant    task   of 
thanking  those  friends  to  whose  ready  aid  and  sympathy 


xvl  PREFACE. 

I  owe    so    much,    and    who  have   siirrouiuletl    with  happy 

memories  and   obligations  the  completion   of   my  work. 

First  and  foremost,  my  heartiest  and  sincerest  thanks  ar« 

due  to  my  friends,  Mr.  C.J.  Monro,  late  Fellow  of  Trinity 

College,  Cambridge,  and  Mr.   R.  Garnett,  of  the  British 

Museum.      They  have  given  me  an  amount  of  time  and 

attention  which  leaves  me  most  largely  indebted  to  their 

unselfish   generosity  ;  and    I   have   made   claims  on  their 

indulgence  more  extensive  than  I  can  adequately  repay. 

To  my  old  pupil,  Mr.  H.  J.  Boyd,  late  scholar  of  Brase- 

nose   College,    Oxford,  I   am    indebted    for   the  Table  of 

Contents.     I    have    also    to    thank    the    Rev.    Professor 

Plumptre  and   Mr.  George   Grove  not  only  for  the  warm. 

interest  which  they  have  taken  in  my  work,  but  also  for 

some  valuable  suggestions.     There  are  many  others,  not 

here  named,  who  will  believe,  without  any  assurance  from 

me,  that   I   am   not    ungrateful   for  the  help  which  they 

have    rendered ;  and    I    must    especially    offer    my   best 

acknowledgments  to  the  Rev.   T.    Teignmouth    Shore  — 

but  for  whose  kind   encouragement  the  book   would  not 

have  been  undertaken  —  and  to  those  who  with  so  much 

care  and  patience  have  conducted  it  through  the  press. 

And  now  I  send  these  pages  forth  not  knowing  what 

shall  befall  them,  but  with  the  earnest  prayer  that  they 

may  be  blessed  to  aid  the  cause  of  truth  and  righteousness, 

and  that  He  in  whose  name  they  are  written  may,  of  His 

mercy, 

"Forgive  them  where  they  fail  in  truth, 
And  in  His  wisdom  make  me  wise." 

F.  W.  F. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     NATIVITY. 


The  Fields  of  the  Shepherds — An  Eiastern  Khan — The  Cave  of 
Bethlehem — The  Enrollment — Joseph  and  Mary — "  No  Room 
for  them  in  the  Inn  " — The  Manger  and  the  Palace — The 
Nativity — Adoration  of  the  Shepherds — Fancy  and  Reality — 
Contrast  of  the  Gospels  and  the  Apocrypha 1 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PRESENTATION   IN   THE  TEMPLE. 

Four  Circumstances  of  the  Infancy— Order  of  Events— The  Cir- 
cumcision—The name  Jesus  — The  Presentation  in  the 
Temple — Simeon — Anna 8 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  VISIT  OP  THE   MAGI. 

Importance  of  the  Epiphany — Herod  the  Great — "Magi" — Tra- 
ditions— Causes  of  their  Journey — General  Expectation  of 
the  World — The  Star  in  the  East — Astronomical  Conject- 
ures of  Kepler,  etc. — Evanescent  Stars — Gifts  of  the  Magi...     12 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FLIGHT   INTO  EGYPT,    AND  MASSACRE  OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

Departure  of  the  Magi — Legends  of  the  Flight  into  Egypt — Mas- 
sacre of  the  Innocents — Its  Historical  Credibility — Charac- 
ter of  Herod  the  Great — Silence  of  Josephus — Death  and 
Burial  of  Herod  the  Great — The  Spell  of  the  Herodian  Do- 
minion Broken  —  Accession  of  Archelaus  —  Settlement  of 
Joseph  and  Mary  in  Galilee 18 


xviii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BOYHOOD  OF  JESUS. 

Geography  of  Palestine — Galilee — Nazareth — Reticence  of  the 
Evangelists — Truthfulness  of  the  Gospels  contrasted  with 
Apocryphal  Legends — Life  of  Galilsean  Peasants — Imagina- 
tion and  Fact — "  He  shall  be  called  a  Nazarene  " 26 

CHAPTER  VL 

JESUS  IN  THE  TEMPLE. 

Jesus  Twelve  Years  Old — Journey  from  Nazareth  to  Jerusalem — 
Scenes  by  the  Way — Numbers  of  Passover  Pilgrims — Jesus 
Missing  from  the  Caravan  —  The  Search  —  Rabbis  in  the 
Temple — "Hearing  them  and  asking  them  Questions" — 
"Why  did  ye  seek  Me?" — "They  understood  not" — Sub- 
missiveness 35 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

THE   HOME   AT   NAZARETH. 

"The  Carpenter" — Dignity  of  Poverty — Dignity  of  Toil — The 
Common  Lot — Wisdom  better  than  Knowledge — Originality 
— The  Language  spoken  by  Jesus — The  Books  of  God — 
Jesus  in  His  Home — Work  and  Example  of  those  Years — 
Peacefulness — "The  Brethren  of  the  Lord" — Solitude — The 
Hill-top  at  Nazareth — Plain  of  Esdraelon — Centrality  of  Pal- 
estine       42 

CHAPTER  Vin. 

THE   BAPTISM   OP   JOHN. 

Characteristics  of  the  Age  —  Darkness  deepest  before  Dawn — 
Asceticism  —  John  the  Baptist —  His  Character  —  His  Teach- 
ing— His  Audience — Scene  of  his  Teaching — His  Message — 
Bearing  of  John  in  the  Presence  of  Jesus — Why  Jesus  was 
baptized — Recognition  as  the  Messiah 55 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  TEMPTATION. 

Quarantania — "With  the  wild  beasts" — "Forty  days" — The 
Moment  of  Exhaustion  —  Reality  of  the  Temptation  — 
"Tempted  like  as  we  are" — Fasting — Lapiden  Judaici — 
The  First  Temptation  — Subtlety  of  it— "Not  by  Bread 
Alone  " — The  Suggested  Doubt — The  Order  of  the  Tempta- 
tions— The  Temple  Pinnacle — The  Tempter's  Quotation — 
The  Splendid  Offer — The  Roman  Emperor — The  Victory. ...     63 


CONTENTS.  xix 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  PIKST  APOSTLES. 

Page. 
St.  John's  Gospel — "  Tlie  Lamb  of  God" — Andrew  and  John — 
Simon — Appearance   and   Personal   Ascendancy  of  Jesus — 
Philip — Nathanael— "  Come   and   see"— "Under    the    fig- 
tree  " — "  Angels  ascending  and  descending  " 75 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  FIRST  MIRACLE. 

"  On  the  third  day  " — An  Eastern  Bridal — "  They  have  no  wine  " 
The  Answer  to  the  Virgin — The  Miracle — Characteristics  of 
this  and  other  Miracles 85 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   SCENE   OF   THE   MINISTRY. 

Contrast  between  the  Sea  of  Galilee  and  the  Jordan  Valley — 
Beauty  of  Gennesareth — Character  of  the  Scenery — Its  Pres- 
ent Desolation  and  Past  Populousness — Prophecy  of  Isaiah — 
Centrality — Christ's  Teaching  there — Site  of  Capernaum. . .       92 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

JESUS  AT  THE  PASSOVER. 

Visit  to  Jerusalem — Purification  of  the  Temple — State  of  the 
Court  of  the  Gentiles — Crowd  of  Traders — Indignation  of 
Jesus — Why  they  did  not  dare  to  Resist — Question  of  the 
Rulers — "Destroy  this  Temple" — Impression  made  by  the 
W^ords — Their  deep  Significance — Extent  to  which  they  were 
Understood 98 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

NICODEMUS. 

Talmudic  Allusions  to  Nicodemus — His  Character — Indirectness 
of  his  Questions — Discourse  of  Jesus — His  Disciples  Baptize — 
Continued  Baptism  of  John — J5non,  near  Salim — Complaint 
of  John  s  Disciples — Noble  and  sad  Reply 106 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  WOMAN   OF  SAMARIA. 

Retirement  of  Jesus  to  Galilee — Sychar — Noontide  at  the  W^ell — 
The  Scene — Conversation  with  the  Woman — Jerusalem  and 


XX  CONTENTS. 

Pagk. 
Qerizim — Revelation  of  Messialisliip — Return  of  Disciples — 
The  Fields  White  unto  Harvest — Believing  Samaritans 110 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
KEJECTED  BY   THE  NAZARENES. 

Sequence  of  Events  —  A  perfect  "Harmony"  Impossible — A 
Prophet  in  his  own  Country — A  Jewish  Synagogue — Nature 
of  the  Service — Sermon  of  Jesus — Change  of  Feeling  in  the 
Audience —  Their  Fury  —  Escape  of  Jesus  —  Finally  leaves 
Nazareth 116 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  GALILEAN  MINISTRY. 

The  Courtier's  Entreaty  —  His  Faith — Sequence  of  Events  —  St. 
John  and  the  Synoptists  —  Jesus  stays  at  Capernaum  —  His 
First  Sabbath  there  —  Preaches  in  the  Synagogue  —  The 
Demoniac — Peter's  Mother-in-law — The  Evening  —  Eager- 
ness of  the  Multitude — His  Privacy  invaded — Preaches  from 
the  Boat —  Call  of  Peter,  James  and  John  —  "  Depart  from 
Me  " —  Publicans — The  Publican  Apostle 123 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  TWELVE,    AND  THE   SERMON   ON  THE  MOUNT. 

A  Night  of  Prayer — Selection  of  the  Twelve — Conjectures  re- 
specting them — James  and  John — Peter — Kilrn  Hattin — Con- 
trast with  Moses  on  Sinai — Beatitudes — Sketch  of  the  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount — "Not  as  the  Scribes" — Authority — 
Christ  and  other  Masters  —  Perfection  —  Beauty  and  Sim- 
plicity   133 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

FURTHER  MIRACLES. 

A  Man  full  of  Leprosy — Violation  of  the  Letter — Why  was  Pub- 
licity Forbidden  ? — Deputation  of  Batlanim — Message  of  the 
Centurion  —  Pressure  of  the  Ministry  —  The  Interfering 
Kinsmen 144 

CHAPTER  XX. 

JESUS     AT     NAIN. 

Nain — A  Funeral — The  Widow's  Son  raised — Message  from  John 
the  Baptist — Overclouding  of  his  Faith — How  Accounted  for 


CONTENTS.  xxi 

Pagk. 
— Machaerus — God's  Trial  of  His  Servants — Answer  of  Jesus 
—  Splendid  Eulogy  of  John — "  The  least  in  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven  " ' 150 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   SINNER   AND  THE   PHARISEE. 

Simon  the  Pharisee  —  Jewish  Customs  at  Meals — The  Weeping 
Woman  —  Simon's  Disgust  — Answer  of  Jesus  —  Parable  of 
the  Debtors — Cold  Courtesy  of  Simon — Pardoning  of  Sins — 
Was  it  Mary  of  Magdala  V  157 

CHAPTER  XXn. 

JESUS  AS  HE  LIVED   IN  GALILEE 

A  Scene  in  Galilee — Jesus  and  His  Followers — His  Aspect — A 
Life  of  Poverty,  of  Toil,  of  Health,  of  Sorrow,  and  yet  of 
Holy  Joy ". 164 

CHAPTER  XXHI. 

A  GREAT    DAY   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   JE8TJ8. 

Order  of  Events —  Teaching  from  the  Boat  —  Parables  —  Parable 
of  the  Sower  —  Other  Parables  —  Effect  produced  —  Urgent 
Desire  for  Rest— The  Eastern  Shore— The  Three  Aspirants — 
The  Storm  — "  What  manner  of  Man  is  this?" —  Miracles — 
Gergesa  —  The  Nalced  Demoniac  from  the  Tombs — "Thy 
name"  —  Loss  of  the  Swine  —  Alarm  of  the  Gadarenes  — 
Their  Request — Request  of  the  Demoniac 171 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   DAY   OF   MATTHEW'S   FEAST. 

Return  to  Capernaum  —  The  Paralytic  let  through  the  Roof  — 
"Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee" — Feast  in  Matthew's  House — 
Scorn  of  the  Pharisees  —  Question  about  Fasting  — The  New 
Wine  and  the  Old 184 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   DAY   OF   MATTHEW'S   FEAST   {continued). 

Jairus — The  Woman  with  the  Issue — The  Touch  of  Faith — Mes- 
sage to  Jairus  —  The  Hired  Mourners  —  Raising  of  Jairus' 
Daughter — The  Blind  Men — They  disobey  Christ's  Injunc- 
tion   188 


xxii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A   VISIT   TO   JERUSALEM. 

Page. 
Phases  of  the  Ministry — Mission  of  the  Twelve  — Their  Instruc- 
tions— A  Feast  of  the   Jews  —  Arrangement  of  St.  John — 
Days  of  Jewish  Feasts — Nature  of  the  Purim  Feast — Reason 
for  Christ's  Presence 193 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  MIRACLE  AT  BETHESDA. 

Pool  of  Bethesda — Healing  of  the  Impotent  Man — Jealous  Ques- 
tioning— Sabbath-breakiag — The  Man's  Meanness — Anger  of 
the  Rulers — Answer  of  Jesus — Dangerous  Results 198 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE   MURDER   OF   JOHN   THE   BAPTIST. 

Return  to  Gralilee  — Herod  Antipas — Herodias  —  Consequences  of 
the  Adulterous  Marriage  —  Credulity  and  Unbelief — The 
Banquet — Salome — Her  Request— Murder  of  the  Baptist — 
Herod's  Remorse — He  Inquires  about  Jesus — Ultimate  Fate 
of  Herod 206 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   FEEDING  OF  THE  FIVE  THOUSAND,  AND  WALKING   ON  THE  SEA. 

Bethsaida  Julias — Hungry  Multitude — Miracle  of  the  Loaves — 
Excitement  of  the  Multitude —  Dismissal  of  the  Disciples  — 
Jesus  Alone  on  the  Mountain  —  The  Disciples  Alone  in  the 
Storm — "It  is  I" — Peter's  Boldness  and  Failure — Nature  of 
the  Miracle 214 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  DISCOURSE  AT  CAPERNAUM. 

Astonished  Query  of  the  Multitude — Reproof  of  Jesus — They  ask 
for  a  Sign — His  Answer — The  Bread  of  Life — Their  Dull 
Materialism — Their  Displeasure — Abandonment  of  Jesus — 
Sad  Question  to  the  Disciples — Answer  of  Peter — Warning 
to  Judas , 221 


CONTENTS.  xxiii 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

GATHERING  OPPOSITION. 

Page. 
Gathering  Clouds— 1.  "  Thy  sins  be  Forgiven  thee  ;"  2.  A  Glut- 
tonous Man  and  a  Winebibber  ;"  3.  "  Thy  Disciples  fast 
not;"  4.  "With  Publicans  and  Sinners" — "Mercy,  not 
Sacrifice  "  —  The  Prodigal  Son  —  Religionism  and  Religion — 
5.  Charges  of  violating  the  Sabbath — Jewish  Traditions — 
Ahhoth  and  Toldoth  —  i.  In  the  Corn-fields — Analogy  of 
David's  Conduct — "  No  Sabbatism  in  the  Temple" — Incident 
in  the  Codex  Bezas  —  ii.  The  Stonemason  with  the  With- 
ered Hand — Good  or  Evil  on  the  Sabbath — The  Objectors 
foiled — Unwashen  Hands — Jewish  Ablutions — "  Your  tradi- 
tion"— The  Oral  Law  —  Hagadoth  and  Halnchoth — "That 
which  Cometh  from  within  " — Evil  Thoughts 227 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

DEEPENING  OPPOSITION. 

Agitations  of  the  Life  of  Jesus  —  Prayer  at  Dawn  — The  Lord's 
Prayer — Parable  of  the  Importunate  Friend  —  Lights  and 
Shadows  of  the  Life  of  Jesus  —  The  Blind  and  Dumb  De- 
moniac —  Exorcism  —  Slander  of  the  Scribes  —  Beelzebub — 
Answer  of  Jesus — Warning  against  Light  Words — Who  are 
truly  Blessed — "  Master,  we  would  see  a  sign  " — Sign  of  the 
Prophet  Jonah — Interference  of  His  Kinsmen 243 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   DAY   OF   CONFLICT. 

Alone  with  Pharisees  at  the  Midday  Meal — Unwashen  Hands — 
Reproof  of  Jesus — The  Lawyers  included  in  the  Reproof — 
Spurious  Civility — Open  Rupture — Danger  of  Jesus — He  goes 
out  to  the  Multitude — Denunciation  of  Hypocrisy — Foolish 
Appeal — The  Parable  of  the  Rich  Fool — Peter's  Question — 
Jesus  troubled  in  Spirit 251 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AMONG   THE   HEATHEN. 

The  Regions  of  Tyre  and  Sidon — The  Syro-Phoenician  Woman — 
Her  Petition  apparently  Rejected — Her  Exalted  Faith — Her 
Faith  Rewarded  —  Heathen  Lands  —  Return  to  Decapolis — 
Deaf  and  Dumb  Man — "  Ephphatha  !" — Reception  by  the 
Multitudes — Feeding  of  the  Four  Thousand 257 


xxiv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  GREAT   CONFESSION. 

Page. 
Reception  of  Jesus  on  His  return  to  Galilee— An  ill-omened  Con- 
junction—Demand of  a  Sign— Reproof  and  Refusal— Sadness 
of  Jesus— He  sails  Away— The  Prophetic  Woe— Leaven  of 
the  Pharisees  and  of  Herod— Literal  Misinterpretation  of  the 
Apostles— Healing  of  a  Blind  Man  at  Betbsaida  Jailias — On 
the  Road  to  Csesarea  Pbilippi— The  Momentous  Questions— 
"Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  Living  God  "— The 
Rock  —  Foundation  of  the  Church  — Misinterpretations- 
Warnings  about  His  Death  —  Rash  Presumption  of  Peter— 
"Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan"— The  Worth  of  the  Human 
Soul—"  The  Sou  of  Man  coming  in  His  Kingdom  " 262 

CHAPTER  XXXVL 

THE  TRANSFIGURATION. 

The  Mountain  — Not  Tabor,  but  Hermon  — The  Vision— Moses 
and  Elias  — Bewildered  Words  of  Peter— The  Voice  from 
Heaven— Fading  of  the  Vision— The  New  Elias 276 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE   DEMONIAC   BOY. 

The  Contrast- The  Disciples  and  the  Scribes— A  rival  of  Jesus— 
The  Demoniac  Boy  — Emotion  of  Jesus  —  Anguish  of  the 
Father — "If  thoii  canst" — The  Deliverance  —  Power  of 
Faith  to  Remove  Mountains— Secluded  Return  of  Jesus— Sad 
Warnings  —  Dispute  which  should  be  the  Greatest — The 
Little  Child  — John's  Question  —  Offending  Christ's  Little 
Ones— The  Unforgiving  Debtor 380 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A   BRIEF  REST   IN   CAPERNAUM. 

The  Temple  Tax  —  The  Collectors  come  to  Peter  —  His  rash  An- 
swer—Jesus puts  the  question  in  its  true  light— The  Stater 
in  the  Fish's  Mouth  —  Peculiar  Characteristics  of  this 
Miracle 285 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

JESUS  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  TABERNACLES. 

Observances  of  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles  —  Presumption  of  the 
Brethren  of  Jesus — "I  go  not  up  yet  unto  this  feast " — 
Eager  Questions  of   the  Multitude  —  Their  differing  Opiu- 


CONTENTS.  XXV 

Page. 
ions — Jesus  appears  in  the  Temple — His  reproachful  Ques- 
tion— "Thou  hast  a  devil" — Appeal  to  His  Works — Indig- 
nation of  the  Sanhedrin — Observances  of  the  Last  Day  of  the 
Feast — "The  joy  of  the  drawing  of  water" — "Rivers  of 
Living  Water" — Divided  Opinions — "  Never  man  spake  like 
this  Man  " — Timid  Interpellation  of  Nicodemus — Answering 
Taunt  of  the  Pharisees 288 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE   WOMAN   TAKEN   IN   ADULTERY. 

Indirect  References  to  the  Narrative  in  the  Following  Dis- 
courses— Jesus  at  the  Mount  of  Olives — Returns  at  Dawn  to 
the  Temple — Hilarity  of  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles — Immor- 
ality of  the  Age — The  Water  of  Jealousy — Base  Cruelty  of 
the  Pharisees  —  The  Woman  Dragged  into  the  Temple  — 
"What  sayest  Thou?" — Subtlety  of  the  Assault — Writing 
on  the  Floor — "  Him  that  is  without  sin  among  you  " — Con- 
science-stricken— Misery  left  alone  with  Mercy — "Go,  and 
sin  no  more  " — Absolute  Calmness  of  Jesus  under  all  At- 
tacks —  Eighth  Day  of  the  Feast  —  The  great  Candelabra — 
The  Light  of  the  World  —  Agitating  Discussions  with  the 
Jews — A  Burst  of  Fury— Jesus  leaves  the  Temple 296 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE   MAN   BORN   BLIND. 

Jewish  Notion  of  Nemesis — "Which  did  sin?" — "Go  wash  in 
the  Pool  of  Siloam  " — On  the  Sabbath  Day — The  man  exam- 
ined by  the  Sanhedrin — A  Sturdy  Nature — Perplexity  of  the 
Sanhedrists — "  We  know  that  this  man  is  a  sinner  " — Bland- 
ishments and  Threats —  The  Man  Excommunicated  —  Jesus 
and  the  Outcast — True  and  False  Shepherds 307 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

FAREWELL   TO   GALILEE. 

The  Interval  between  the  Feasts  of  Tabernacles  and  Dedica- 
cation  —  Great  Episode  in  St.  Luke  —  Character  of  the  Epi- 
sode— Mission  of  the  Seventy — News  of  the  Galilaeans  mas- 
sacred by  Pilate — Teachings  founded  on  the  Event — Stern 
Warnings  —  The  Barren  Fig-tree  —  The  Pharisees'  Plot  to 
hasten  His  Departure — "Go  and  tell  this  fox" — Herod 
Antipas — Jesus  sets  forth — Farewell  to  the  Scene  of  His 
Ministry — Fate  that  fell  on  the  (lalilanins — Jesus  exults  in 
Spirit — "  Come  unt(j  nic  all  ye  that  labor  " — Noble  Joy 812 


XX  vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

INCIDENTS  OF  THE  JOURNEY. 

Paoe. 
Possible  Routes — The  Village  of  En-gannim  —  Churlishness  of 
the  Samaritans  —  Passion  of  the  Sons  of  Thunder  —  Gentle 
Rebuke  of  Jesus  —  Counting  the  Cost  —  Persea — The   Ten 
Lepers — Thanklessness — ' "  Where  are  the  nine?" 321 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

TEACHINGS  OF  THE  JOURNEY. 

Sabbatical  Disputes — Foolish  Ruler  of  the  Synagogue — Healing 
of  the  Bowed  Woman — Arcjumentum,  ad  hominem — Igno- 
rant Sabbatarianism  —  Religious  Espionage  —  The  Man 
with  the  Dropsy — Question  of  Jesus — Silence  of  Obstinacy — 
The  Man  Healed — Self-sufficiency  of  the  Pharisees — Strug- 
gles for  Precedence — A  Vague  Platitude — Parable  of  the 
King's  Marriage- feast — The  Unjust  Steward — Avarice  of  the 
Pharisees — Their  Sycophancy  to  Herod — The  Rich  Man  and 
Lazarus — "  Ar3  there  few  that  be  saved  ?" — "  What  must  I 
do  to  obtain  Eternal  Life?" — The  Good  Samaritan — Return 
of  the  Seventy — The  Love  of  Publicans  and  Sinners — The 
Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son — Solemn  W^arnings — "  Where, 
Lord  f — The  Eagles  and  the  Carcass 326 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE   FEAST   OF   DEDICATION. 

The  House  at  Bethany  —  Martha  and  Mary — "The  one  thing 
needful  " — The  Feast  of  the  Dedication — Solomon's  Porch — 
Reminiscence  of  the  Feast  —  Jesus  Suddenly  Surrounded — 
"  How  long  dost  thou  hold  us  in  suspense?" — No  Political 
Messiah — "  I  and  My  Father  are  one" — They  Seek  to  Stone 
Him — Appeal  of  Jesus  to  His  Life  and  Works — He  retires  to 
Bethany  beyond  Jordan 841 

CHAPTER  XLVL 

THE   LAST   STAY   IN   PER^A. 

Question  about  Divorce — Importance  of  the  Question — Hillel  and 
Shammai — Dispute  as  to  the  meaning  of  Ervath  Dahhar — 
Lax  Interpretations — Both  Schools  wrong — Simple  Solution 
of  the  Question — Permission  of  Divorce  by  Moses  only  Tem- 
porary— Corruption  of  the  Age — Teachings  of  Jesus  about 
Moral  Purity — Celibacy  and  Marriage — Jesus  blesses  Little 
Children — The    eager    Young   Ruler  —  "Good   Master" — • 


CONTENTS.  xxvii 

Page. 
"What   must   I  do?"— An  Heroic  Mandate— "The   Great 
Refusal "— Discouragement  of  the  Disciples — Hundredfold 
Rewards — The  Laborers  in  the  Vineyard 348 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE   RAISING   OF   LAZARUS. 

Message  to  Jesus — Two  Days'  Delay — "  Let  us  also  go  that  we 
may  die  with  Him  " — He  approaches  Bethany — Martha  meets 
Him — "The  Resurrection  and  the  Life  " — Mary's  Agony- 
Deep  Emotion  of  Jesus  —  Scene  at  the  Grave — "Lazarus, 
come  forth" — Silence  of  the  Synoptists — Meeting  at  the 
House  of  Caiaphas— His  ^Vicked'Policy— The  Fiat  of  Death 
— Retirement  to  Ephraim 357 

CHAPTER  XLVin. 

JERICHO    AND    BETHANY. 

Pilgrim- caravans — Jesus  on  His  Way — Revelation  of  the  Crown- 
ing Horror  —  The  Sons  of  Zebedee  —  The  Cup  and  the  Bap- 
tism —  Humility  before  Honor  —  Jericho — Bartimteus — Zac- 
chaeus  — His  Repentance — Parable  of  the  Pounds  —  Events 
which  Suggested  it  —  Arrival  at  Bethany — "Simon  the 
Leper" — Intentional  Reticence  of  the  Synoptists  —  Mary's 
Offering  —  Inward  Rage  of  Judas  —  Blessing  of  Mary  by 
Jesus  — "For  My  Burying " —  Interview  of  the  Traitor  with 
the  Priests 364 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

PALM  SUNDAY. 

Excitement  of  Expectation— Three  Roads  to  Bethany— Bethphage 
— The  Ass'  Colt — A  Humble  Triumph — Hosanna  ! — Turn  of 
the  Road — The  Jerusalem  of  that  Day  —  Jesus  Weeps  over 
the  City — Terrible  Fulfillment  of  the  Woe — The  Two  Pro- 
cessions—  Indignation  of  the  Pharisees — "Who  is  this?" 
Jesus  once  more  cleanses  the  Temple  —  Hosannas  of  the 
Children  —  "Have  ye  never  read?" — The  Greeks  who  de- 
sired an  Interview — Abgarus  V — Discourse  of  Jesus  — 
Voice  from  Heaven — The  Day  Closes  in  Sadness — Bivouac 
on  the  Mount  of  Olives 374 

CHAPTER  L. 

MONDAY   IN   PASSION   WEEK — A    DAY   OF   PARABLES. 

Jesus  Hungers — The  Deceptive  Fig — Hopelessly  Barren — Criti- 
cisms on  the  Miracle — Right  View  of  it — Deputation  of  the 


xxviii  CONTENTS. 

Paob. 

Priests — "  Wbo  gave  tbee  tliis  autliority  ?" — Counter-ques- 
tion of  Jesus — The  Priests  reduced  to  Silence — Parable  of 
the  Two  Sons  —  Parable  of  the  Rebellious  Husbandmen  — 
The  Rejected  Corner-stone — Parable  of  the  Marriage  of  the 
King's  Son — Macbi nations  of  the  Pharisees 384 

CHAPTER  LI. 

THE     DAY    OV    TEMPTATIONS — THE    LAST     AND    GREATEST     DAY    OF 
THE  PUBLIC   MINISTRY  OF   JESUS. 

The  Withered  Fig-tree — Power  of  Faitb — Plot  of  the  Herodians 
— Its  Dangerous  Character — The  Tribute  Money — Divine  and 
Ready  Wisdom  of  the  Reply  of  Jesus — Attempts  of  the  Sad- 
ducees  —  A  poor  Question  of  Casuistry  —  The  Sevenfold 
Widow — "  As  the  Angels  of  God  " — "  The  God  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob  " — Implicit  Teaching  of  Immortality 393 

CHAPTER  LII. 

THE  GREAT   DENUNCIATION. 

"  Master,  thou  hast  well  said" — "Which  is  the  Great  Com- 
mandment ?"  —  Answer  of  the  Rabbis  —  Answer  of  Jesus — 
"  Not  far  from  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  " — Question  of  Jesus 
to  the  Scribes — David's  Son  and  David's  Lord — Their  F'ail- 
ure  to  Answer — The  Final  Rupture — "Woe  unto  you, 
Scribes  and  Pharisees,  Hypocrites!" — The  Voice  which 
broke  in  Tears — "O  Jerusalem.  Jerusalem!" — The  Denuncia- 
tion Deserved — The  Denunciation  Fulfilled 400 

CHAPTER  LIII. 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  TEMPLE. 

A  Happier  Incident  —  The  Poor  Widow  —  True  Almsgiving  — 
Splendor  of  the  Temple — "Not  one  stone  upon  another" — 
Jesus  on  the  Mount  of  Olives — "When  shall  these  things 
be?" — The  great  Eschatological  Discourse — The  Two  Hori- 
zons —  Difficulties  of  the  Discourse,  and  Mode  of  Meeting 
them — What  must  come  before  the  Final  End — The  Imme- 
diate Future — Warning  Signs  —  Parable  of  the  Fig-tree,  of 
the  Ten  Virgins,  of  the  Talents — After  Two  Days  —  Last 
Evening  Walk  to  Bethany 407 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE   END. 

Meeting  of  Conspirators  in   the  Palace  of  Caiaphas — Their  Dis- 
cussions—  Judas  Demands  an  Interview  —  Thirty  Pieces  of 


CONTENTS.  xxix 

Page. 
Silver  —  Motives  of  Judas — "Satan  entered  into  Judas" — 
The  Wednesday  passed  in  Retirement — Last  Sleep  of  Jesus 
on  Earth 417 


CHAPTER  LV. 

THE   LAST   SUPPER. 

Green  Thursday  " —  Preparations  for  the  Meal  —  The  Upper 
Room — Dispute  about  Precedence — Jesus  washes  the  Dis- 
ciples' Feet  —  Peter's  Surprise  and  Submission — "Ye  ara 
clean,  but  not  all " — Teaching  about  Humility — Troubled  in 
Spirit — "  One  of  you  shall  betray  me  " — "  Lord,  is  it  1  ?" — 
Peter  makes  a  sign  to  John — (iiviug  of  the  Sop — ' '  Rabbi,  is 
it  I  ?" — "  He  went  out,  and  it  was  night  " — Revived  Joy  of 
the  Feast — Institution  of  the  Lord's  Supper 423 


CHAPTER  LVL 

THE   LAST   DISCOURSE. 

Now  is  the  Son  of  Man  glorified" — "  Little  Children " — The 
New  Commandment — "  Lord,  whither goest  Thou?" — Warn- 
ing to  Peter — "  Lord,  here  are  two  swords" — Consolations — 
*' How  can  we  know  the  way?" — "Lord,  show  us  the 
Father  " — Difficulty  of  Judas  Lebbaeus — Last  Words  before 
Starting — The  True  Vine — Plain  Teachings — Gratitude  of 
the  Disciples — Fresh  Warnings  to  them — The  High-Priestly 
Prayer 434 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

QETHSEMANE — THE  AGONY  AND  THE  ARREST. 

Walk  through  the  Moonlight  to  Gethsemane — Last  Warning  to 
Peter — Gethsemane — Scene  of  Agony — Desire  for  Solitude 
and  yet  for  Sympathy  —  The  First  Struggle  with  Agony  of 
Soul — Its  Intensity — The  Bloody  Sweat — Not  due  to  Dread 
of  Death — "Simon, sleepest  thou?" — The  Second  Agony — The 
Disciples  Sleeping — The  Third  Agony  and  Final  Victory — 
"  Sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest" — Torches  in  the  Moon- 
light—  Steps  taken  by  Judas — "Comrade" — The  Traitor's 
Kiss — Jesus  advances — "  Whom  seek  ye?" — "  I  am  He" — 
Terror  of  the  Band— Historical  Parallels — Jesus  arrested — 
Peter's  Blow — "Suffer  ye  thus  far" — The  Young  Man  in 
the  Linen  Sheet — Jesus  bound  and  led  away 442 


XXX  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 

je8tjs  before  the  priests  and  the  sanhedrin. 

Page. 
Asserted  Discrepancies  —  Sixfold  Trial  —  "To  Annas  first" — 
Hauan,  the  High  Priest  de  jure — His  Character — His  Respon- 
sibility for  the  Result — Degradation  of  the  then  Sanhedrin — 
Pharisees  and  Sadducees— Greater  Cruelty  of  the  Latter — 
The  Sadducees,  the  Priestly  Party — Cause  of  their  Rage  and 
Hatred — "  The  Viper  Brood  " — Jesus  Repudiates  the  Exami- 
nation of  Hanan — "Ansvverest  Thou  the  High  Priest  so?" — 
Noble  Patience  —  The  Second  Phase  of  the  Trial  —  In  the 
Palace  of  Caiaphas — Committees  of  the  Sanhedrin — "  Sought 
false  witness" — Total  Failure  of  the  Witnesses — "  Destroy 
this  Temple  ' — Silence  of  Jesus — Despair  of  Caiaphas — His 
violent  Adjuration  —  Reply  of  Jesus — "  Blasphemy  " —  "Ish 
maveth  " 454 

CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE   INTERVAL   BETWEEN   THE   TRIALS. 

The  First  Derision — The  Outer  Court — John  procures  Admission 
for  Peter — The  First  Denial — The  Second  Denial  —  The 
Galilaean  Accent — The  Third  Denial — The  Look  of  Jesus — 
The  Repentance  of  Peter — Brutal  Insults  of  the  Menials — 
The  Dawn — The  Meeting  of  the  Sanhedrin — Their  Divisions 
— Third  Phase  of  the  Trial — A  Contrast  of  Two  Scenes  before 
the  Sanhedrin — Jesus  breaks  His  Silence — The  Condemna- 
tion— The  Second  Derision — The  Fate  of  Jesus 465 

CHAPTER  LX. 

JESUS  BEFORE   PILATE. 

"Suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate" — What  is  known  of  Pilate — 
First  Outbreak  of  the  Jews  against  him  on  his  arrival — The 
Aqueduct  and  the  Corban — The  gilt  Votive  Shields — The 
Massacre  of  Galileans — The  Massacre  of  Samaritans — The 
Palace  of  Herod — Jesus  in  the  Palace — Led  before  Pilate — 
Pilate  comes  out  to  the  Jews — 1.  His  Roman  Contemptuous- 
ness — Determines  to  try  the  Case — Vagueness  of  the  Accusa- 
tions—  "Art  Thou  the  King  of  the  Jews?" — "What  is 
truth?" — First  Acquittal — 2.  Fierceness  of  the  Jews — Jesus 
sent  to  Herod  Antipas — Cruel  Frivolity  of  Herod — Second 
Acquital — 3.  Last  Phase  of  the  Trial — Temporising  of  Pilate 
—Dream  of  his  Wife — Cowardly  Concession — Jesus  or  Bar- 
Abbas? — "  Crucify  Him  " — The  Scourging — Third  Derision — 
The  Crown  of  Thorns — "  Behold  the  Man  !" — Last  efforts  of 
Pilate  to  save  Him — Last  Warning  to  Pilate — "  The  Son  of 


CONTENTS.  XXXI 

Page. 
(iod" — "  Behold  your  King  "—Pilate  terrified  at  tlie  Name 
of  Csesar — He  gives  way— He  washes  his  Hands—"  His  blood 
be  on  us,  and  on  our  Children  '."—Fulfillment  of  the  Impre- 
cation  474 

CHAPTER  LXI. 

THE   CRUCIFIXION. 

"  i,  miles,  e-xpedi  crucem  " — Two  Malefactors— The  Cross — Pro- 
cession to  Golgotha — Simon  of  Cyrene— The  Daughters  of 
Jerusalem — The  Green  and  Dry  Tree — Site  of  Golgotha — 
The  Medicated  Draught  —  The  Method  of  Crucifixion  — 
"  Father,  forgive  them  " — Agony  of  Crucifixion — The  Title 
on  the  Cross — Rage  of  the  Jews — The  Soldiers — Parting  the 
Garments — Insults  of  the  Bystanders — The  Robber — Silence 
of  the  Sufferer — The  Penitent  Robber — "To-day  thou  shalt 
be  with  me  in  Paradise  " —  The  Woman  from  Galilee  — 
"  Woman,  Behold  thy  son  " — The  Noonday  Darkness — "  Eli, 
Eli,  lama  sabachthani  V" — "I  thirst" — Vinegar  to  Drink — 
"  Into  Thy  hands  " — "  It  is  finished  " — The  Centurion — The 
Multitude — What  the  Cross  of  Christ  has  Done — The  Cruri- 
fragium — Water  and  Blood 493 

CHAPTER  LXII. 

THE   RESUllRECTION. 

Utter  Apparent  Weakness  of  Christianity  at  the  Death  of  Christ 
— Source  of  its  Subsequent  Strength — Joseph  of  Arimathaea 
— Nicodemus — The  Garden  and  the  Sepulchre — The  Women 
Mark  the  Spot — Request  of  the  Sanhedrin  that  the  Tomb 
might  be  Guarded — The  Dawn  of  Easter  Day — The  Women 
at  the  Sepulchre — The  Empty  Tomb — Peter  and  John — 1. 
First  Appearance  to  Mary  of  Magdala — 2.  Appearance  to  the 
Women — Story  Invented  by  the  Jews — 3.  Appearance  to 
Peter  —  4.  The  Disciples  at  Emmaus  —  5.  The  assembled 
Apostles — 6.  The  Apostles  and  Thomas — 7.  At  the  Sea  of 
Galilee  —  Jesus  and  Peter — "Feed  my  lambs" — "What 
shall  this  man  doV" — 8.  The. Five  Hundred  on  the  Mountain 
— 9.  Appearance  to  James  — 10.  The  Ascension — "At  the 
right  hand  of  God,  the  Father  Almighty  " 512 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     NATIVITY. 

One  mile  from  Bethlehem  is  a  little  plain,  in  which, 
under  a  grove  of  olives,  stands  the  bare  and  neglected 
chapel  known  by  the  name  of  "the  Angel  to  the  Shep- 
herds." It  is  built  over  the  traditional  site  of  the  fields 
where,  in  the  beautiful  language  of  St.  Luke — more  ex- 
quisite than  any  idyll  to  Christian  ears — "there  were 
shepherds  keeping  watch  over  their  flock  by  niglit,  when, 
lo,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  them,  and  the  glory 
of  the  Lord  shone  round  about  them,"  and  to  their  happy 
ears  were  uttered  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy,  that  unto 
them  was  born  that  day  in  the  city  of  David  a  Saviour, 
which  was  Christ  the  Lord. 

The  associations  of  our  Lord's  nativity  were  all  of  the 
humblest  character,  and  the  very  scenery  of  His  birth- 
place was  connected  with  memories  of  poverty  and  toil. 
On  that  night,  indeed,  it  seemed  as  though  the  heavens 
must  burst  to  disclose  their  radiant  minstrelsies;  and  the 
stars,  and  the  feeding  sheep,  and  the  "light  and  sound  in 
the  darkness  and  stillness,"  and  the  rapture  of  faithful 
hearts,  combine  to  furnish  us  with  a  picture  painted  in 
the  colors  of  heaven.  But  in  the  brief  and  thrilling  verses 
of  the  Evangelist  we  are  not  told  that  those  angel  songs 
were  heard  by  any  except  the  wakeful  shepherds  of  an  ob- 
scure village;  and  those  shepherds,  amid  the  chill  dews  of 
a  winter  night,  were  guarding  their  flocks  from  the  wolf 
and  the  robber,  in  fields  where  Kuth,  their  Saviour's  an- 
cestress, had  gleaned,  sick  at  heart,  amid  the  alien  corn, 
and  David,  the  despised  and  youngest  son  of  a  numerous 
family,  had  followed  the  ewes  great  with  young. 


2  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

''And  sndilenly,"  adds  tlie  sole  Evangelist,  wlio  lias 
narrated  the  circu instances  of  that  memorable  night  in 
which  Jesus  was  born,  amid  the  indilTerence  of  a  world 
nnconscious  of  its  Ueliverer,  "  there  was  with  the  angel  a 
multitude  of  the  heavenly  host,  praising  God,  and  saying, 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace  among 
men  of  good  will." 

It  might  have  been  expected  that  Christian  piety  would 
have  marked  the  spot  by  splendid  tnemorials,  and  enshrined 
the  rude  grotto  of  the  shepherds  in  the  marble  and  mosaics 
of  some  stately  church.  But,  instead  of  this,  the  Cliapel 
of  the  Herald  Angel  is  a  mere  rude  crypt ;  and  as  the 
traveler  descends  down  the  broken  steps  which  lead  fi'oin 
the  olive-grove  into  its  dim  recess,  he  can  hardly  persuade 
liimself  that  he  is  in  a  consecrated  place.  Yet  a  half- 
nnconscious  sense  of  fitness  has,  perhaps,  contributed  to 
this  apparent  neglect.  The  poverty  of  the  cha]iel  harmo- 
nizes well  with  the  humble  toil  of  those  whose  radiant  vision 
it  is  intended  to  commemorate. 

"Come  now!  let  us  go  unto  Bethlehem,  and  see  this 
thing  wliicli  has  come  to  pass,  Avhich  the  Lord  made 
known  to  us,"  said  the  shepherds,  when  those  angel  songs 
had  ceased  to  break  the  starry  silence.  Their  way  would 
lead  them  up  the  terraced  hill,  and  through  the  moonlit 
gardens  of  Bethlehem,  until  they  reached  the  summit  of 
the  gray  ridge  on  which  the  little  town  is  built.  On  that 
summit  stood  the  village  inn.  The  khan  (or  caravanserai) 
of  a  Syrian  village,  at  that  day,  was  probably  identical,  in 
its  appearance  and  accommodation,  with  those  which  still 
exist  in  modern  Palestine.  A  khan  is  a  low  structure, 
built  of  rough  stones,  and  generally  only  a  single  story  in 
height.  It  consists  for  the  most  part  of  a  square  inclosure, 
in  which  the  cattle  can  be  tied  up  in  safety  for  the  night, 
and  an  arched  recess  for  the  accommodation  of  travelers. 
The  leewan,  or  paved  floor  of  the  recess,  is  raised  a  foot 
or  two  above  the  level  of  the  court-yard.  A  large  khan — 
such,  for  instance,  as  that  of  which  the  ruins  may  still 
be  seen  at  Khan  Minyeh,  on  the  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Gali- 
lee— might  contain  a  series  of  such  recesses,  which  are,  in 
fact,  low  small  rooms  with  no  front  wall  to  them.  They 
are,  of  course,  perfectly  jmblic  ;  everything  that  takes 
place  in  them  is  visible  to  every  person  in  the  khan.    They 


THE  NATIVITY.  3 

are  also  totally  devoid  of  eveu  the  most  ordinary  furniture. 
The  traveler  iiuiy  bring  his  own  carpet  if  he  likes,  may  sit 
cross-legged  upon  it  for  his  meals,  and  may  lie  upon  it  at 
night.  As  a  rule,  too,  he  must  bring  his  own  food,  attend 
tohis  own  cattle,  and  draw  his  own  water  from  the  neigh- 
boring spring.  He  would  neither  expect  nor  require 
atteuchmce,  and  would  pay  only  the  merest  trifle  for 
the  advantage  of  slielter,  safety,  and  a  floor  on  which  to 
lie.  But  if  he  chanced  to  arrive  late,  and  the  leewans 
were  all  occupied  by  earlier  guests,  he  would  have  no 
choice  but  to  be  content  with  such  accommodation  as  he 
could  find  in  the  court-yard  below,  and  secure  for  himself 
and  his  family  such  small  amount  of  cleanliness  and  de- 
cency as  are  compatible  with  an  unoccupied  corner  on  the 
filthy  area,  which  must  be  shared  with  horses,  mules  and 
camels.  The  litter,  the  closeness,  the  unpleasant  smell  of 
the  crowded  animals,  the  unwelcome  intrusion  of  the 
pariah  dogs,  the  necessary  society  of  the  very  lowest 
hangers-on  of  the  caravanserai,  are  adjuncts  to  such  a 
position  which  can  only  \y?  :-er.l:zod  by  any  traveler  in  the 
East  who  happens  to  have  been  placed  in  similar  circum- 
stances. 

In  Palestine  it  not  unfrequently  happens  that  the  entire 
khan,  or  at  any  rate  the  portion  of  it  in  which  the  animals 
are  housed,  is  one  of  those  innumerable  caves  which  abound 
in  the  limestone  rocks  of  its  central  hills.  Such  seems  to 
have  been  the  case  at  the  little  town  of  Bethleheni- 
Ephratah,  in  the  land  of  Judah.  Justin  Martyr,  the 
Apologist,  who,  from  his  birth  at  Shechem,  was  familiar 
with  Palestine,  and  who  lived  less  than  a  century  after  the 
time  of  our  Lord,  places  the  scene  of  the  nativity  in  a 
cave.  This  is,  indeed,  the  ancient  and  constant  tradition 
both  of  the  Eastern  and  the  Western  Chuiches,  and  it  is 
one  of  the  few  to  which,  though  unrecorded  in  the  Gospel 
history,  we  may  attach  a  reasonable  probability.  Over  this 
cave  has  risen  the  Church  and  Convent  of  the  Nativity, 
and  it  was  in  a  cave  close  beside  it  that  one  of  the  most 
learned,  eloquent,  and  holy  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church — 
the  great  St.  Jerome,  to  whom  we  owe  the  received  Latin 
translation  of  the  Bible — spent  thirty  of  his  declining 
years  in  study,  and  fast,  and  prayer. 

From  their  northern  home  at  Nazareth,  in  the  mount- 


4  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ains  of  Zabulon,  Joseph,  the  village  carpenter,  had  made 
his  way  along  the  wintry  roads  with  Mary,  his  cs})oused 
wife,  being  great  with  child.  Fallen  as  were  their  fort- 
unes, they  were  both  of  the  house  and  lineage  of  David, 
and  they  were  traversing  a  journey  of  eighty  miles  to  the 
village  which  had  been  the  home  of  their  great  ancestor 
while  he  was  still  a  ruddy  shepherd  lad,  tending  his  flocks 
upon  the  lonely  hills.  The  object  of  that  toilsome  jour- 
ney, which  could  not  but  be  disagreeable  to  the  settled 
habits  of  Oriental  life,  was  to  enroll  their  names  as  mem- 
bers of  the  house  of  David  in  a  census  which  had  been 
ordered  by  the  Emperor  Augustus.  In  the  political  condi- 
tion of  the  Roman  Empire,  of  which  Judasa  then  formed  a 
part,  a  single  whisper  of  the  Emperor  was  sufficiently 
powerful  to  secure  the  execution  of  his  mandates  in  the 
remotest  corners  of  the  civilized  world.  Great  as  are  the 
historic  difficulties  in  which  the  census  is  involved,  there 
seems  to  be  good  independent  grounds  for  believing  that 
it  may  have  been  originally  ordered  by  Sentius  Saturniniis, 
that  it  was  begun  by  Publius  Sulpicius  Quirinus,  when  he 
was  for  the  first  time  legate  of  Syria,  and  that  it  was  com- 
pleted during  his  second  term  of  office.  In  deference  to 
Jewish  prejudices,  any  infringement  of  which  was  the  cer- 
tain signal  for  violent  tumults  and  insurrection,  it  was  not 
carried  out  in  the  ordinary  Roman  manner,  at  each  person's 
place  of  residence,  but  according  to  Jewish  custom,  at  the 
town  to  which  their  family  originally  belonged.  The 
Jews  still  clung  to  their  genealogies  and  to  the  memory  of 
long-extinct  tribal  relations;  and  though  the  journey  was  a 
weary  and  distasteful  one,  the  mind  of  Joseph  may  well 
have  been  consoled  by  the  remembrance  of  that  heroic 
descent  which  would  now  be  authoritatively  recognized, 
and  by  the  glow  of  those  Messianic  hojies  to  which  the 
marvelous  circumstances  of  which  he  was  almost  the  sole 
depositary  would  give  a  tenfold  intensity. 

Traveling  in  the  East  is  a  very  slow  and  leisurely  affair, 
and  was  likely  to  be  still  more  so,  if,  as  is  probable,  the 
country  was  at  that  time  agitated  by  political  animosities. 
Beeroth,  which  is  fifteen  miles  distant  from  Bethlehem,  or 
possibly  even  Jerusalem,  which  is  only  six  miles  off,  may 
have  been  the  resting-place  of  Mary  and  Joseph  before  this 
last  stage  of  their   journey.     But  the  heavy   languor,  or 


THE  NATIVITY.  5 

even  the  commencing  pangs  of  travail,  must  necessarily 
have  retarded  the  j^rogress  of  the  maiden-mother.  Others 
who  were  traveling  on  the  same  errand  would  easily  have 
passed  them  on  the  road,  and  when,  after  toiling  up  the 
steep  hill-side,  by  David's  well,  they  arrived  at  the  khan — 
probably  the  very  one  which  had  been  known  for  centuries 
as  the  House  of  C  him  ham,  and,  if  so,  covering  perhaps  the 
very  ground  on  which,  one  tliousand  years  before,  had 
stood  the  hereditary  house  of  Boaz,  of  Jesse,  and  of  David 
— every  leeiuan  was  occupied.  The  em-ollment  had  drawn 
so  many  strangers  to  the  little  town  that  •'  there  was  no 
room  for  them  in  the  inn."'  In  the  rude  limestone  grotto 
attached  to  it  as  a  stable,  among  the  hay  and  straw  spread 
for  the  food  and  rest  of  the  cattle,  weary  with  their  day's 
journey,  far  from  home,  in  the  midst  of  strangers,  in  the 
chilly  winter  night — in  circumstances  so  devoid  of  all 
earthly  comfort  or  splendor  that  it  is  impossible  to  imagine 
a  humbler  nativity — Christ  was  born. 

Distant  but  a  few  miles,  on  the  Plateau  of  the  abrupt 
and  singular  hill  now  called  Jebel  Furcidis,  or  "  Little 
Paradise  Mountain,"  towered  the  palace  fortress  of  the 
Great  Herod.  The  magnificent  houses  of  his  friends  and 
courtiers  crowded  around  its  base.  The  humble  wayfarers, 
as  they  passed  near  it,  might  have  heard  the  hired  and 
voluptuous  minstrelsy  with  which  its  feasts  were  celebrated, 
or  the  shonting  of  the  rough  mercenaries  whose  arms  en- 
forced obedience  to  its  despotic  lord.  But  the  true  King 
of  the  Jews — the  rightful  Lord  of  the  Universe — was  not 
to  be  found  in  palace  or  fortress.  They  who  wear  soft 
clothing  are  in  king's  houses.  The  cattle-stables  of  the 
lowly  caravanserai  were  a  more  fitting  birthplace  for  Him 
who  came  to  reveal  that  the  soul  of  the  greatest  monarch 
was  no  dearer  or  greater  in  God's  sight  than  the  soul  of  His 
meanest  slave  ;  for  Him  who  had  not  where  to  lay  His 
head ;  for  Him  who,  from  His  cross  of  shame,  was  to  rule 
the  world. 

Guided  by  the  lamp  which  usually  swings  from  the 
center  of  a  rope  hung  across  the  entrance  of  tlie  khan,  the 
shepherds  made  their  way  to  the  inn  of  Bethlehem,  and 
found  Mary  and  Joseph,  aiul  the  ]>abe  lying  in  the  manger. 
The  fancy  of  poet  and  painter  has  revelled  in  the  im- 
aginary  glories   of   the   scene.     They  have   sung  of   the 


6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"bright  harnessed  angels"  Avho  liovered  tliorc,  and  of  the 
stars  lingering  beyond  tiieir  time  to  shed  their  sweet 
influences  upon  that  smiling  infancy.  They  have 
painted  the  radiation  of  light  from  his  manger-cradle, 
illuminating  all  the  place  till  the  by-standers  are 
forced  to  shade  their  eyes  from  that  heavenly  splen- 
dor. But  all  this  is  wide  of  the  reality.  Such  glories 
as  the  simple  shepherds  saw  were  seen  only  by  the 
eye  of  faith  ;  and  all  which  met  their  gaze  was  a 
peasant  of  Galilee,  already  beyond  the  prime  of  life,  and  a 
young  mother,  of  whom  fjtey  could  not  know  that  she  was 
wedded  maid  and  virgin  wife,  with  an  Infant  Child,  whom, 
since  there  were  none  to  help  her,  her  own  hands  had 
wrapped  in  swaddling-clothes.  The  light  that  shined 
in  the  darkness  was  no  physical,  but  a  s})iritual  beam;  the 
Dayspring  from  on  high,  which  had  now  visited  mankind, 
dawned  only  in  a  few  faithful  and  humble  hearts. 

And  the  Gospels,  always  truthful  and  bearing  on  every 
page  that  simplicity  which  is  the  stamp  of  honest  narra- 
tive, indicate  this  fact  without  comment.  There  is  in 
them  nothing  of  the  exuberance  of  marvel,  and  mystery 
and  miracle,  which  appears  alike  in  the  Jewish  imagina- 
tions about  their  coming  Messiali,  and  in  the  apocryphal 
narratives  about  the  Infant  Christ.  There  is  no  more  de- 
cisive criterion  of  their  absolute  credibility  as  simple  his- 
tories, than  the  marked  and  violent  contrast  which  they 
offer  to  all  the  spurious  gospels  of  the  early  centuries,  and 
all  the  imaginative  legends  which  have  clustered  about 
them.  Had  our  Gospels  been  unauthentic,  they  too  must 
inevitably  have  partaken  of  the  characteristics  which  mark, 
without  exception,  every  early  fiction  about  tlie  Saviour's 
life.  To  the  unilluminated  fancy  it  would  have  seemed 
incredible  that  the  most  stu})end()us  event  in  the  world's 
history  should  have  taken  place  without  convulsions  and 
catastrophes.  In  the  Gospel  of  St.  James  there  is  a  really 
striking  chapter,  describing  how,  at  the  awful  moment  of 
the  nativity,  the  pole  of  the  heaven  stood  motionless,  and 
the  birds  were  still,  and  there  were  workmen  lying  on  the 
earth  with  their  hands  in  a  vessel,  "  and  those  who  han- 
dled did  not  handle  it,  and  those  who  took  did  not  lift,  and 
those  who  presented  it  to  their  mouth  did  not  present  it, 
but  the  faces  of  all  were  looking  up  ;  and  I  saw  the  sheep 


I 


THE  NATIVITY.  7 

scattered  and  tlie  sheep  stood,  and  tlie  slieplierd  lifted  up 
his  hand  to  strike,  and  his  hand  remained  up;  and  Hooked 
at  the  stream  of  the  river,  and  tlie  mouths  of  the  kids 
were  down,  and  were  not  drinking;  and  everything  which 
was  being  propelled  forward  was  intercepted  in  its  course." 
But  of  this  sadden  hush  and  pause  of  awe-struck  Nature, 
of  the  parhelions  and  mysterious  splendors  which  blazed 
in  many  places  of  the  world,  of  the  painless  chihlbirth,  of 
the  perpetual  virginity,  of  the  ox  and  the  ass  kneeling  to 
worship  Him  in  the  manger,  of  the  voice  with  which  im- 
mediately after  His  birth  He  told  His  mother  that  He  was 
the  Son  of  God,  and  of  many  another  wonder  which  rooted 
itself  in  the  earliest  traditions,  there  is  no  trace  whatever 
in  the  New  Testament.  The  inventions  of  man  differ 
wholly  from  the  dealings  of  God.  In  His  designs  there  is 
no  haste,  no  rest,  no  weariness,  no  discontinuity;  all  things 
are  done  by  him  in  the  majesty  of  silence,  and  they  are 
seen  under  a  light  that  shineth  quietly  in  the  darkness, 
''showing  all  things  in  the  slow  history  of  their  ripening.-" 
"  The  unfathomable  depths  of  the  Divine  counsels,"  it  has 
been  said,  '*'  were  moved  ;  tlie  fountains  of  the  great  deep 
were  broken  up  ;  the  healing  of  the  nations  was  issuing 
forth  ;  but  nothing  w-as  seen  on  the  surface  of  human 
society  but  this  slight  rippling  of  the  water  ;  the  course  of 
human  things  went  on  as  usual,  while  each  was  taken  up 
with  little  projects  of  his  own." 

How  long  the  Virgin  Mother  and  her  holy  Child  stayed 
in  this  cave,  or  cattle-inclosure,  we  cannot  tell,  but  prob- 
ably it  was  not  for  long.  The  word  rendered  "manger" 
in  Luke  ii.  7,  is  of  very  uncertain  meaning,  nor  can  we 
discover  more  about  it  than  that  it  means  a  place  where 
animals  were  fed.  It  is  probable  that  the  crowd  in  the 
khan  w'ould  not  be  permanent,  and  common  humanity 
would  have  dictated  an  early  removal  of  the  mother  and 
her  child  to  some  more  appropriate  resting-place.  The 
Magi,  as  we  see  from  St.  Matthew,  visited  Mary  in  "the 
house."  But  on  all  tliese  minor  incidents  the  Gospels  do 
not  dwell.  The  fullest  of  them  is  St.  Luke,  and  the  sin- 
gular sweetness  of  his  narrative,  its  almost  idyllic  grace, 
its  sweet  calm  tone  of  noble  reticence,  seem  clearly  to  in- 
dicate that  he  derived  it,  though  but  in  fragmentary  no- 
tices, from  the  lips  of  Mary  herself.     It  is,  indeed,  diflicult 


8  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

to  imagine  from  whom  else  it  could  have  come,  for  mothers 
are  the  natural  historians  of  infant  years  ;  but  it  is  inter- 
esting to  find,  in  the  actual  style,  that  ''coloring  of  a 
woman's  memory  and  a  woman's  views,"  which  we  should 
naturally  have  expected  in  confirmation  of  a  conjecture  so 
obvious  and  so  interesting.  To  one  who  was  giving  the 
reins  to  his  imagination,  the  minutest  incidents  would 
have  claimed  a  description  ;  to  Mary  they  would  have 
seemed  trivial  and  irrelevant.  Others  might  wonder,  but 
in  her  all  wonder  was  lost  in  the  one  overwhelming  revela- 
tion— the  one  absorbing  consciousness.  Of  such  things 
she  could  not  lightly  speak  ;  "  she  kept  all  these  things 
and  pondered  them  in  her  heart."  The  very  depth  and 
sacredness  of  that  reticence  is  the  natural  and  probable  ex- 
planation of  the  fact,  that  some  of  the  details  of  the  Sav- 
iour's infancy  are  fully  reconled  by  St.  Luke  alone. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    PRESENTATION    IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

Four  other  events  only  of  our  Lord's  infancy  are  nar- 
rated by  the  Gospels  —  namely,  the  Circumcision,  the 
Presentation  in  the  Temple,  tlie  Visit  of  the  Magi  and  the 
Flight  into  Egypt.  Of  these  the  first  two  occur  only  in 
St.  Luke,  the  last  two  only  in  St.  Matthew.  Yet  no  single 
particular  can  be  pointed  out  in  which  the  two  narratives 
are  necessarily  contradictory.  If,  on  other  grounds,  we 
have  ample  reason  to  accept  the  evidence  of  the  Evangel- 
ists, as  evidence  given  by  witnesses  of  unimpeachable  honesty, 
we  have  every  right  to  believe  that,  to  whatever  cause  the 
confessed  fragmentariness  of  their  narratives  may  be  due, 
those  narratives  may  fairly  be  regarded  as  supplementing 
each  other.  It  is  as  dishonest  to  assume  the  existence 
of  irreconcilable  discrepancies,  as  it  is  to  suggest  the  adop- 
tion of  impossible  harmonies.  The  accurate  and  detailed 
sequence  of  biographical  narrative  from  the  earliest  years 
of  life  was  a  thing  wholly  unknown  to  the  Jews,  and  alien 
alike  from  their  style  and  temperament.  Anecdotes  of 
infancy,  incidents  of  childhood,  indications  of  future 
greatness  in  boyish  years  are  a  very  rare  phenomenon  in 


THE  PRESENTATION  IN  THE  TEMPLE.  9 

ancient  literature.  It  is  only  since  the  dawn  of  Christian- 
ity that  childhood  has  been  surrounded  by  a  halo  of 
romance. 

The  exact  order  of  the  events  which  occurred  before  the 
return  to  Nazareth  can  only  be  a  matter  of  uncertain  con- 
jecture. The  Circumcision  was  on  the  eighth  day  after 
the  birth  (Luke  i.  59  ;  ii.  21)  ;  the  Purification  was  thirty- 
three  days  after  the  circumcision  (Lev.  xii.  4)  ;  the  Visit 
of  the  Magi  was  when  "Jesus  Avas  born  in  Bethlehem" 
(Matt.  ii.  1);  and  the  Flight  into  Egypt  immediately 
after  their  departure.  The  supposition  tliat  the  return 
from  Egypt  was  previous  to  the  Presentation  in  the  Temple, 
though  not  absolutely  impossible,  seems  most  improbable. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  such  a  postponement 
would  have  been  a  violation  (however  necessary)  of  the 
Levitical  law,  it  would  either  involve  the  supposition  that 
the  Purification  was  long  postponed,  which  seems  to  be 
contradicted  by  the  twice-repeated  expression  of  8t.  Luke 
(ii.  22,  39);  or  it  supposes  that  forty  days  allowed  sufficient 
time  for  the  journey  of  the  AVise  Men  from  "the  East," 
and  for  the  flight  to,  and  return  from,  Egypt.  It  involves, 
moreover,  the  extreme  improbability  of  a  return  of  the 
Holy  Family  to  Jerusalem  —  a  town  but  six  miles  distant 
from  Bethlehem  —  within  a  few  days  after  an  event  so 
frightful  as  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents.  Although  no 
supposition  is  entirely  free  from  the  objections  which 
necessarily  arise  out  of  our  ignorance  of  the  circumstances, 
it  seems  almost  certain  that  the  Fligiit  into  Egypt,  and  the 
circumstances  which  led  to  it,  did  not  occur  till  after  the 
presentation.  For  forty  days,  therefore,  the  Holy  Family 
were  left  in  peace  and  obscurity,  in  a  spot  surrounded  by 
so  many  scenes  of  interest,  and  hallowed  by  so  many  tradi- 
tions of  tlieir  family  and  race. 

Of  the  Circumcision  no  mention  is  made  by  the  apocry- 
jihal  gospels,  except  an  amazingly  repulsive  one  in  the 
Arabic  Gospel  of  the  Infancy.  It  was  not  an  incident 
Avhich  would  be  likely  to  interest  those  whose  object  it  was 
to  intrude  their  own  dogmatic  fancies  into  the  sacred 
story.  But  to  the  Christian  it  has  its  own  solemn  mean- 
ing. It  shows  that  Chi'ist  came  not  to  destroy  the  Law, 
but  to  fullili.  Thus  it  I)ecame  Him  to  fulfill  all  righteous- 
ness.   Thus  early  did  He  suffer  pain  for  our  sakes,  to  teach 


10  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

us  the  spiritual  circumcision  —  tlie  circumcision  of  the 
heart — the  circumcision  of  all  our  bodily  senses.  As  the 
east  catches  at  sunset  the  colors  of  the  west,  so  Bethlehem 
is  a  prehule  to  Calvary,  and  even  the  Infant's  cradle  is 
tinged  with  a  crimson  reflection  from  the  Redeemer's 
cross.  It  was  on  this  day,  too,  tliat  Christ  first  publicly 
received  that  name  of  Jesus,  which  the  conimand  of  the 
angel  Gabriel  had  already  announced.  "  Hoshea  "  meant 
salvation  ;  Joshua,  *'  whose  salvation  is  Jehovah  ;  "  Jesus 
is  but  the  English  modification  of  the  Greek  form  of  the 
name.  At  this  time  it  was  a  name  extraordinarily  common 
among  tiie  Jews.  It  was  dear  to  them  as  having  been 
borne  by  the  great  Leader  who  had  conducted  them  to  vic- 
torious possession  of  the  Promised  Land,  and  by  the  great 
High  Priest  who  had  headed  the  band  of  exiles  who  returned 
from  Babylon;  but  henceforth — not  for  Jews  only,  but  for  all 
the  world — it  was  destined  to  acquire  a  significance  infinitely 
more  sacred  as  the  mortal  designation  of  the  Son  of  God. 
The  Hebrew  "Messiah"  and  the  Greek  "Christ"  were 
names  wliich  represented  His  office  as  the  Anointed  Prophet, 
Priest  and  King;  but  "Jesus"  was  the  personal  name 
which  He  bore  as  one  who  "emptied  Himself  of  His 
glory"  to  become  a  sinless  man  among  sinful  men. 

On  the  fortieth  day  after  the  nativity — until  which  time 
she  could  not  leave  the  house — the  Virgin  presented  her- 
self witli  her  Babe  for  tlieir  purification  in  the  Temple  at 
Jerusalem.  "Thus,  then,"  says  8t.  Bonaventura,  "do 
they  bring  the  Lord  of  the  Temple  to  the  Temple  of  the 
Lord."  The  proper  offering  on  such  occasions  was  a  year- 
ling lamb  for  a  burnt-offering,  and  a  young  pigeon  or  a 
turtle-dove  for  a  sin-offering;  but  with  that  beautiful  ten- 
derness, which  is  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  the  Mosaic 
legislation,  those  who  were  too  poor  for  so  comparatively 
costly  an  offering,  were  allowed  to  bring  instead  two  turtle- 
doves or  two  young  pigeons.  With  this  humble  offering 
Mary  presented  herself  to  the  priest.  At  the  same  time 
Jesus,  as  being  a  first-born  son,  was  presented  to  God,  and 
in  accordance  with  the  law,  was  redeemed  from  the  neces- 
sity of  Temple  service  by  the  ordinary  payment  of  five 
shekels  of  the  sanctuary  (Num.  xviii.  L5,  10),  amounting 
iji  value  to  about  fifteen  shillings.  Of  the  purification 
and  presentatioii   no  further  details  are  given  to  us,  but 


THE  PRESENTATION  IN  THE  TEMPLE.  H 

this  visit  to  the  Temple  was  rendered  memorable  by  a 
doable  iucident — the  recognition  of  the  Infant  Saviour  by 
Simeon  and  Anna. 

Of  Simeon  we  are  simi)ly  told  that  he  was  a  just  and. 
devout  Israelite  endowed  with  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and 
that  having  received  divine  intimation  that  his  death 
would  not  take  place  till  he  had  seen  the  Messiah,  he 
entered  under  some  inspired  impulse  into  the  Temple,  and 
there,  recognizing  the  Holy  Child,  took  llim  in  his  arms, 
and  burst  into  that  glorious  song — the  ''  Nunc  Dimittis" — 
which  for  eighteen  centuries  has  been  so  dear  to  Christian 
hearts.  Tlie  prophecy  that  the  Babe  should  be  "alight 
to  lighten  the  Gentiles,"  no  less  than  the  strangeness  of 
the  circumstances,  may  well  have  caused  astonishment  to 
His  parents,  from  whom  the  aged  prophet  did  not  conceal 
their  own  future  sorrows  —  warning  the  Virgin  Mother 
especially,  both  of  the  deadly  opposition  which  that 
Divine  Chihl  was  destined  to  ericounter,  and  of  the 
national  perils  which  should  agitate  the  days  to  come. 

Legend  has  been  busy  witli  the  name  of  Simeon.  In 
the  Arabic  Gospel  of  the  Infancy,  he  recognizes  Jesus  be- 
cause he  sees  Him  shining  like  a  pillar  of  light  in  His 
mother's  arms.  Nicephorus  tells  us  that,  in  reading  the 
Scriptures,  he  had  stumbled  at  the  verse,  "Behold  a  virgin 
shall  conceive,  and  bear  a  son"  (Isa.  vii.  14),  and  had 
then  received  the  intimation  that  he  should  not  die  till  he 
had  seen  it  fulfilled.  All  attempts  to  identify  him  with 
other  Sinu'ons  have  failed.  Had  he  been  a  High  Priest, 
or  President  of  the  Sanhedrin,  St.  Luke  would  not  have 
introduced  him  so  casually  as  "a  man  {avfjpooTto'i)  in 
Jerusalem  whose  name  was  Simeon."  The  statement  in 
the  Gospel  of  the  Nativity  of  Mary  that  he  was  113  years 
old  is  wholly  arbitrary ;  as  is  the  conjecture  that  the 
silence  of  the  Talmud  about  him  is  due  to  his  Christian 
proclivities.  He  could  not  have  been  Eabban  Simeon, 
the  son  of  Hillel,  and  father  of  Gamaliel,  who  would  not 
at  this  time  have  been  so  old.  Still  less  could  he  have 
been  the  far  earlier  Simeon  the  Just,  who  was  believed  to 
have  prophesied  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  and  who 
was  the  last  survivor  of  the  great  Sanhedrin.  It  is  curious 
that  we  should  be  told  nothing  ivspccting  him,  while  of 
Anna,  the  propiietess,  several   interesting"  jiarticulars  are 


12  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

given,  and  among  others  tliat  she  was  of  the  tribe  of 
Asher — a  valuable  proof  that  tribal  relations  still  lived 
affectionately  in  the  memory  of  the  people. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   VISIT   OF   THE   MAGI. 

The  brief  narrative  of  the  Visit  of  the  Magi,  recorded 
in  the  second  cliapter  of  St.  Matthew,  is  of  the  deepest 
interest  in  tlie  history  of  Christianity.  It  is,  in  the  first 
place,  the  Epiphany,  or  Manifestation  of  Christ  to  the 
Gentiles.  It  brings  the  facts  of  the  Gospel  history  into 
close  connection  with  Jewish  belief,  with  ancient  prophecy, 
with  secular  history,  and  with  modern  science  ;  and  in 
doing  so  it  furnishes  ns  with  new  confirmations  of  our 
faith,  derived  incidentally,  and  therefore  in  the  most  un- 
suspicious manner,  from  indisputable  and  unexpected 
quarters. 

Ilerod  the  Great,  who,  after  a  life  of  splendid  misery 
and  criminal  success,  had  now  sunk  into  the  jealous  de- 
crepitude of  his  savage  old  age,  was  residing  in  his  new 
jialace  on  Zion,  when,  half  maddened  as  he  was  already  by 
the  crimes  of  his  past  career,  he  was  thrown  into  a  fresh 
paroxysm  of  alarm  and  anxiety  by  the  visit  of  some 
Eastern  Magi,  bearing  the  strange  intelligence  that  they 
had  seen  in  the  east  the  star  of  a  new-born  king  of  the 
Jews,  and  had  come  to  worship  him.  Ilerod,  a  mere 
Iduma?an  usurper,  a  more  than  suspected  apostate,  the  de- 
tested tyrant  over  an  unwilling  ])eople,  the  sacrilegious 
plunderer  of  the  tomb  of  David — Herod,  a  descendant  of 
the  despised  Ishmael  and  the  hated  Esau,  heard  the 
tidings  with  a  terror  and  indignation  which  it  was  hard  to 
dissimulate.  The  grandson  of  one  wlio,  as  was  believed, 
had  been  a  mere  servitor  in  a  temple  at  Ascalon,  and  who 
in  his  youth  had  been  carried  off  by  Edomite  brigamls,  he 
well  knew  how  worthless  were  his  t)retensions  to  jui  historic 
throne  which  he  held  solely  by  successful  adventure.  But 
his  craft  equaled  his  cruelty,  and  finding  that  all  Jerusidcni 
sliai'cd  his  susjiense,  he  sumnioutHl  to  his  palace  the  lead- 
ing priests  and  theologians  of  the  Jews — perhaps  the  relics 


I 


THE  VISIT  OF  THE  MAGI.  13 

of  that  Sauhedrin  which  he  had  long  reduced  to  a  despic- 
able shadow — to  inquire  of  them  where  the  Messiah  was  to 
be  bom.  He  received  the  ready  and  contident  answer  that 
Bethlehem  was  the  town  indicated  for  that  honor  by  the 
prophecy  of  Micah.  Coucealino-,  therefore,  his  desperate 
intention,  he  dispatched  the  Wise  Men  to  Bethlehem, 
bidding  them  to  let  him  know  as  soon  as  they  had  found 
the  chdd,  that  he  too  might  come  and  do  him  reverence. 

Before  continuing  the  narrative,  let  us  pause  to  inquire 
who  these  Eastern  wanderers  were,  and  what  can  be  dis- 
covered respecting  their  mysterious  mission. 

The  name  "  Magi,"  by  which  they  are  called  in  the  Greek 
of  St.  Matthew,  is  perfectly  vague.  It  meant  originally 
a  sect  of  Median  and  Persian  scholars;  it  was  subsequently 
applied  (as  in  Acts  xii.  6)  to  pretended  astrologers,  or 
Oriental  soothsayers.  Such  characters  were  well  kiiownto 
antiquity,  under  the  name  of  Chakheans,  and  their  visits 
were  bv  no  means  unfamiliar  even  to  the  Western  nations. 
Diogenes  Laertius  reports  to  us  a  story  of  Aristotle,  that  a 
Syrian  mage  had  predicted  to  Socrates  that  he  would  die  a 
violent  death;  and  Seneca  informs  us  that  magi,  "qui 
forte  Athcnis  erant,"  had  visited  the  tomb  of  Plato,^  and 
had  there  offered  incense  to  him  as  a  divine  being.  There 
is  nothing  but  a  mass  of  confused  and  contradictory  tradi- 
tions to  throw  any  light  either  on  their  rank,  their 
country,  their  number,  or  their  names.  The  tradition 
which  makes  them  kings  was  probably  founded  on  the 
prophecy  of  Isaiah  (Ix.  3):  "  And  the  Gentiles  shall  come 
to  thy  light,  and  kings  to  the  brightness  of  thy  rising." 
The  fancy  that  they  were  Arabians  may  have  arisen  from 
the  fact  that  myrrh  and  frankincense  are  Arabian  products, 
joined  to  the  passage  in  Ps.  Ixxii.  10,  ''The  kings  of 
Tharshish  and  of  tlie  isles  shall  give  presents;  the  kings  of 
Arabia  and  Saba  shall  bring  gifts." 

There  was  a  double  tradition  as  to  their  number.  Au- 
gustine and  Chrysostoni  say  that  there  were  twelve,  but 
"the  common  belief,  arising  perhaps  from  the  triple  gifts, 
is  that  they  were  three  in  number.  Tlie  Venerable  Bede 
even  gives  us  their  names,  their  counti-yand  their  personal 
appearance.  Melchior  was  an  ohl  man  witii  white  hair  and 
long  beard  ;  Caspar,  a  ruddy  and  beardless  youth  ;  Bal- 
thasar,  swarthy  and  in  the  prime  of  life.      We  are  further 


11  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

iiifonned  by  tradition  that  Molcliior  was  a  descondant  of 
Shein,  Caspar  of  Ham,  and  lialthasar  of  Japheth.  Thus 
they  are  made  representatives  of  the  three  periods  of  life, 
and  the  three  divisions  of  tlie  globe;  and  valueless  as  such 
fictions  may  be  for  direct  historical  purposes,  they  have 
been  rendered  interesting  by  their  influence  on  the  most 
splendid  productions  of  religious  art.  The  skulls  of  these 
three  kings,  each  circled  with  its  crown  of  jeweled  gold, 
are  still  exhibited  among  the  relics  in  the  cathedral  at 
Cologne, 

It  is,  however,  more  immediately  to  our  purpose  to 
ascertain  the  causes  of  their  memorable  journey. 

We  are  informed  by  Tacitus,  by  Suetonius,  and  by 
Josephus,  that  tliere  prevailed  throughout  the  entire  East 
at  this  time  an  intense  conviction,  derived  from  ancient 
prophecies,  that  ere  long  a  powerful  monarch  would  arise 
in  Judffia,  and  gain  dominion  over  the  world.  It  has, 
indeed,  been  conjectured  that  the  Roman  historians  may 
simply  be  echoing  an  assertion,  for  which  Josephus  was  in 
reality  tiieir  sole  authority;  but  even  if  we  accejit  tliis  un- 
certain supposition,  there  is  still  ample  proof,  both  in 
Jewish  and  in  Pagan  writings,  that  a  guilty  aiid  weary 
world  was  dimly  expecting  tlie  advent  of  its  Deliverer. 
"  The  dew  of  blessing  falls  not  on  us,  and  our  fruits  have 
no  taste,"  exclaimed  Rabban  Simeon,  the  son  of  Gamaliel; 
and  the  expression  might  sum  up  much  of  the  literature 
of  an  age  which  was,  as  Niebuhr  says  "effete  with  the 
drunkenness  of  crime."  Tlie  sjilendid  vaticination  in  the 
fourth  Eclogue  of  Virgil  proves  the  intensity  of  the  feeling, 
and  has  long  been  reckoned  among  the  "  unconscious 
prophecies  of  heathendom." 

There  is,  therefoi-e,  nothing  extraordinary  in  tlie  fact 
that  these  Eastern  Magi  should  have  bent  their  steps  to 
.lerusalem,  especially  if  there  were  any  circumstances  to 
awaken  in  the  East  a  more  immediate  conviction  that  this 
wide-spread  expectation  was  on  the  point  of  fulfillment. 
If  they  were  disciples  of  Zoroaster,  they  would  see  in  the 
infant  King  the  future  conqueror  of  Ahriman,  the  destined 
Lord  of  all  the  World.  The  story  of  their  journey  has  in- 
deed been  set  down  with  contemptuous  confidence  as 
a  mere  poetic  my  til ;  but  though  its  actual  historic  verity 
must  rest  on  the  testimony  of  the  Evangelist  alone,  tliere 


THE  VISIT  OF  THE  MAGI.  16 

are  many  facts  wliicli  enable  us  to  see  that  in  its  main  out- 
lines it  involves  nothing  either  impossible  or  even  im- 
probable. 

Now  St.  Matthew  tells  us  that  the  cause  of  their  expect- 
ant attitude  was  that  they  had  seen  the  star  of  the  Messiah 
in  the  east,  and  that  to  discover  L-im  was  tlie  motive  of 
their  journey. 

That  any  strange  sidereal  phenomenon  should  be  inter- 
preted as  the  signal  of  a  coming  king,  was  in  strict  accord- 
ance with  the  belief  of  their  age.  Such  a  notion  may  well 
have  arisen  from  the  prophecy  of  Balaam,  the  Gentile  sor- 
cerer— a  prophecy  which,  from  the  power  of  its  rhythm 
and  the  splendor  of  its  imagery,  could  liardly  fail  to  be  dis- 
seminated in  Eastern  countries.  Nearly  a  century  after- 
ward, the  false  Messiah,  in  the  reign  of  Hadrian,  received 
from  the  celebrated  Rabbi  Akiba,  the  surname  of  Bar- 
Cocheba,  or  "Son  of  a  Star,"  and  caused  a  star  to  be 
stamped  upon  the  coinage  which  he  issued.  Six  centuries 
afterward,  Mahomet  is  said  to  have  pointed  to  a  comet 
as  a  portent  illustrative  of  his  pretensions.  Even  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  had  always  considered  that  the  births 
and  deaths  of  great  men  were  symbolized  by  the  appear- 
ance and  disappearance  of  heavenly  bodies,  and  the  same 
belief  has  continued  down  to  comparatively  modern  times. 
The  evanescent  star  which  appeared  in  the  time  of  Tycho 
Brahe,  and  was  noticed  by  him  on  November  11,  1572, 
was  believed  to  indicate  the  brief  but  dazzling  career  of 
some  warrior  from  the  north,  and  was  subsequently  re- 
garded as  having  been  prophetic  of  the  fortunes  of  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus.  Now  it  so  happens  that,  although  the 
exact  year  in  which  Clirist  was  born  is  not  ascertainable 
with  any  certainty  from  Scripture,  yet  within  a  few  years 
of  what  must,  on  any  calculation,  have  been  the  period  of 
His  birth,  there  undouhtedly  did  appear  a  phenomenon  in 
the  heavens  so  remarkable  that  it  could  not  possibly  have 
escaped  the  observation  of  an  astrological  people.  The 
immediate  applicability  of  this  phenomenon  to  the  Gospel 
narrative  is  now  generally  abandoned  ;  but,  whatever  other 
theory  may  be  held  about  it,  it  is  unquestionably  import- 
ant and  interesting  as  having  furnished  one  of  the  data 
which  first  led  to  the  discovery  that  the  birth  of  Christ 
took   place  three   or   four  years    before  our  received,  era. 


16  THE  LIFE  OF  CltHIST. 

This  appearance,  ami  the  circmnstancos  whicli  have  been 
brought  into  connection  witli  it,  we  will  proceed  to  notice. 
IMiey  form  a  curious  e])isode  in  the  liistoryol  exegesis,  and 
are  otherwise  remarkable;  but  we  must  fully  warn  the 
reader  that  the  evidence  by  which  this  astronomical  fact 
has  been  brought  into  immediate  connection  with  St.  Mat- 
thew's mirrative  is  purely  conjectural,  and  must  be  re- 
ceived, if  received  at  all,  with  considerable  caution. 

On  December  17,  1603,  tliere  occurred  a  conjunction  of 
the  two  largest  superior  planets,  Saturn  and  Jupiter,  in  the 
zodiacal  sign  of  the  Fishes,  in  the  watery  trigon.  In  the 
following  spring  they  were  joined  in  the  fiery  trigon  by 
Mars,  and  in  September,  1604,  there  appeared  in  the  foot 
of  Ophiuchus,  and  between  Mars  and  Saturn,  a  new  star  of 
the  first  magnitude,  which,  after  shining  for  a  whole  year, 
gradually  waned  in  March,  1606,  and  finally  disappeared. 
Brunowski,  the  pupil  of  Kepler,  who  first  noticed  it,  de- 
scribes it  as  sparkling  with  an  interchange  of  colors  like  a 
diamond,  and  as  not  being  in  any  way  nebulous,  or  offering 
any  analogy  to  a  comet.  These  remarkable  phenomena 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  great  Kepler,  who,  from  his 
acquaintance  with  astrology,  knew  the  immense  import- 
ance which  such  a  conjunction  would  liave  had  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Magi,  and  wished  to  discover  wliether  any  such  con- 
junction had  taken  place  about  the  period  of  our  Lord's 
birth.  Now  there  is  a  conjunction  of  Jupiter  and  Saturn 
in  the  same  trigon  about  every  twenty  years,  but  in  every 
200  years  they  pass  into  another  trigon,  and  are  not  con- 
joined in  the  same  trigon  again  (after  passing  through  the 
entire  Zodiac),  till  after  a  lapse  of  794  years,  four  months, 
and  twelve  days.  By  calculating  backward,  Kepler  discov- 
ered that  the  same  conjunction  of  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  in 
Pisces,  had  happened  no  less  than  three  times  in  the  year 
A.U.C  747,  and  that  the  planet  Mars  had  joined  them  in 
the  spring  of  748;  and  the  general  fact  that  there  was  such 
a  combimition  at  this  period  has  been  verified  by  a  number 
of  independent  investigators,  and  does  not  seem  to  admit 
of  denial.  And  however  we  may  apply  the  fact,  it  is  cer- 
tainly an  interesting  one.  For  such  a  conjunction  would 
at  once  have  been  interpreted  by  the  Chaldean  observers 
as  indicating  the  approach  of  some  memorable  event ;  and 
since  it  occurred  in  the  constellation   Pisces,  which  was 


THE  VISIT  OF  THE  MAOl.  it 

supposed  by  astrologers  to  be  immediately  connected  with 
tlie  fortunes  of  JiuUea,  it  would  naturally  turn  their 
thoughts  in  that  direction.  Tlie  foi'm  of  their  interpreta- 
tion would  be  molded,  both  by  the  astrological  opinions  of 
the  Jews — which  distinctly  point  to  this  very  conjunction 
as  an  indication  of  the  Messiah — and  by  the  expectation  of 
a  Deliverer  which  was  so  widely  spread  at  the  period  in 
which  they  lived. 

The  appearance  and  disappearance  of  new  stars  is  a 
phenomenon  by  no  means  so  rare  as  to  admit  of  any  pos- 
sible doubt.  The  fact  that  St.  Matthew  speaks  of  such  a 
star  witiiin  two  or  three  years,  at  the  utmost,  of  a  time 
when  we  know  that  there  was  this  remarkable  planetary 
conjunction,  and  the  fact  that  there  was  such  a  star  nearly 
1,600  years  afterward,  at  the  time  of  a  similar  conjunction, 
can  only  be  regarded  as  a  curious  coincidence.  We  should, 
indeed,  have  a  strong  and  strange  confirmation  of  one 
main  fact  in  St.  Mattliew's  narrative,  if  any  reliance  couid 
be  placed  on  tlie  assertion  that,  in  the  astronomical  tables 
of  the  Chinese,  a  record  has  been  preserved  that  a  new  star 
did  appear  in  the  heavens  at  this  very  epoch.  But  it 
would  be  obviously  idle  to  build  on  a  datum  which  is  so 
incapable  of  verification  and  so  enveloped  with  uncer- 
tainty. 

We  are,  in  fact,  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
astronomical  researches  which  have  proved  the  reality  of 
this  remarkable  planetary  conjunction  are  only  valuable  as 
showing  the  possibiliii/  that  it  may  have  prepared  the 
Magi  for  the  early  occurrence  of  some  great  event.  And 
this  confident  expectation  may  have  led  to  their  journey  to 
Palestine,  on  the  subsequent  appearance  of  an  evanescent 
star,  an  appearance  by  no  means  unparalleled  in  the  records 
of  astronomy,  but  which  in  this  instance  seems  to  rest  on 
the  authority  of  the  Evangelist  alone. 

No  one,  at  any  rate,  need  stumble  over  the  supposition 
that  an  apparent  sanction  is  thus  extended  to  the  combi- 
nations of  astrology.  Apart  from  astrology  altogether,  it 
is  conceded  by  many  wise  and  candid  observers,  even  by 
the  great  Niebuhr,  the  last  man  in  the  v/orld  to  be  carried 
away  by  credulity  or  superstition,  that  great  catastrophes 
and  u.icisual  phenomena  in  nature  have,  as  a  matter  of  fact 
— however    we    may   choose    to   interpret   s'\ch   a    /act — 


18  TIIK  LTFE  O'P  CITniST. 

synchronised  in  a  vemarlvable  manner  with  groat  events  in 
human  history.  It  would  not,  therefore,  imply  any 
prodigious  folly  on  the  part  of  the  Magi  to  regard  the 
pUmetary  conjunction  as  something  providentially  signili- 
cantc  And  if  astrology  be  ever  so  absurd,  yet  there  is 
nothing  absurd  in  the  supposition  that  the  Magi  should  be 
led  to  truth,  even  through  the  gateways  of  delusion,  if  the 
spirit  of  sincerity  and  truth  was  in  them.  The  history  of 
science  will  furnish  repeated  instances,  not  only  of  the 
enormous  discoveries  accorded  to  apparent  accident, 
but  even  of  the  immense  results  achieved  in  the  investiga- 
tion of  innocent  and  honest  error.  Saul,  who  in  seeking 
asses  found  a  kingdom,  is  bat  a  type  of  many  another 
seeker  in  many  another  age. 

The  Magi  came  to  Bethlehem,  and  olTered  to  the  young 
child  in  his  rude  and  humble  resting-place  a  reverence 
which  we  do  not  hear  that  they  had  paid  to  the  usurping 
Edomite  in  his  glittering  palace.  "And  when  they  had 
opened  their  treasures  they  presented  unto  him  gifts,  gold, 
and  frankincense,  and  myrrh."  The  imagination  of  early 
Christians  has  seen  in  each  gift  a  special  significance  ; 
myrrh  for  the  human  nature,  gold  to  the  king,  fraidcin- 
cense  to  the  divinty  ;  or,  the  gold  for  the  race  of  Shem, 
the  myrrh  for  the  race  of  Ham,  the  incense  for  the  race  of 
Japheth  ;  innocent  fancies,  only  worthy  of  mention  be- 
cause of  their  historic  interest,  and  their  bearing  on  the 
conceptions  of  Christian  poetry  and  Christian  art. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    FLIGHT    INTO    EGYPT,  AND    THE     MASSACBE   OF    THE 
INNOCENTS. 

When  they  had  offered  their  gifts,  the  Wise  men  Avould 
naturally  have  returned  to  Herod,  but  being  warned  of 
God  in  a  dream,  they  returned  to  their  own  land  another 
way.  Neither  in  Scripture,  nor  in  authentic  history,  nor 
even  in  early  apocryphal  tradition,  do  we  find  any  further 
traces  of  their  existence  ;  but  their  visit  led  to  very  mem- 
orable events. 

Tlie   dream    which  warned    them  of  danger   may  very 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EG  YPT.  19 

probiibly  have  fnllen  in  with  their  own  doubts  about  the 
cruel  and  crafty  tyrant  who  had  expi-essed  a  hypocritical 
desire  to  pay  his  homage  to  the  Infant  King  ;  and  if,  as  we 
may  suppose,  they  imparted  to  Joseph  any  hint  as  to  their 
misgivings,  he  too  would  be  prepared  for  the  warning 
dream  which  bade  him  fly  to  Egypt  to  save  the  young 
child  from  Herod's  jealousy. 

Egypt  has,  in  all  ages,  been  the  natural  place  of  refuge 
for  all  who  were  driven  fi'om  Palestine  by  distress,  perse- 
cution or  discontent.  Rliinokolura,  the  river  of  Egypt,  or 
as  Milton,  with  his  usual  exquisite  and  learned  accuracy 
calls  it : 

"  The  brook  tliat  parts 
Egypt  from  Syrian  groiiud," 

might  have  been  reached  by  the  fugitives  in  three  days ; 
and  once  upon  the  further  bank,  they  were  beyond  the 
reach  of  Herod's  jurisdiction. 

Of  the  flight,  and  its  duration.  Scripture  gives  us  no 
further  particulars  ;  telling  us  only  that  the  Holy  Family 
fled  by  night  from  Bethlehem,  and  returned  when  Joseph 
had  again  been  assured  by  a  dream  that  it  would  be  safe 
to  take  back  the  Saviour  to  the  land  of  His  nativity.  It  is 
left  to  apocryphal  legends,  immortalized  by  the  genius  of 
Italian  art,  to  tell  us  how,  on  the  way,  the  dragons  came 
and  bowed  to  Him,  the  lions  and  leopards  adored  Him, 
the  roses  of  Jericho  blossomed  wherever  His  footsteps 
trod,  the  palm-trees  at  His  command  bent  down  to  give 
tliem  dates,  the  robbers  were  overawed  by  His  majesty, 
and  the  journey  was  miraculously  shortened.  They  tell 
us  further  how,  at  His  entrance  into  the  country,  all  the 
idols  of  the  land  of  Egypt  fell  from  their  pedestals  with  a 
sudden  ci'ash,  and  lay  shattered  and  broken  upon  their 
faces,  and  how  many  wonderful  cures  of  leprosy  and 
demoniac  possession  were  wrought  by  his  word.  All 
this  wealth  and  prodigality  of  superfluous,  aimless,  and 
unmeaning  miracle — arising  in  pait  from  a  mere  craving 
for  the  supernatural,  and  in  part  from  a  fanciful  applica- 
tion of  Old  Testament  prophecies — fui'iiishes  a  strong  con- 
trast to  the  truthful  .simpHcity  of  the  Gospel  nari'ative. 
St,  Mattliew  neither  tells  us  where  the  Holy  Family  abode 
in  Egypt,  nor  how  long  their  exile  continued;  butancient 


30  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

legends  say  that  tliey  remained  two  years  absent  from 
Palestine,  and  lived  at  ]\Iataieeli,  a  few  miles  northeast  of 
Cairo,  whei'e  a  fountain  was  long  shown  of  wliich  Jesus 
had  made  the  water  fresh,  and  an  ancient  sycamore  under 
which  they  had  rested.  The  Evangelist  alludes  oidy  to  the 
causes  of  their  flight  and  of  their  return,  and  finds  in  the 
latter  a  new  and  deeper  significance  for  the  words  of  the 
prophet  Hosea,  "Out  of  Egypt  have  I  called  my  Son." 

The  flight  into  Egypt  led  to  a  very  memorable  event. 
Seeing  that  the  Wise  Men  had  not  returned  to  him,  the 
alarm  and  jealously  of  Herod  assumed  a  still  darker  and 
more  malignant  aspect.  He  had  no  means  of  identifying 
the  royal  infant  of  the  seed  of  David,  and  least  of  all 
would  he  have  been  likely  to  seek  for  Him  in  the  cavern 
stable  of  the  village  khan.  But  he  knew  that  the  child 
whom  the  visit  of  the  Magi  had  taught  him  to  regard  as  a 
future  rival  of  himself  or  of  his  house  was  yet  an  infant 
at  the  breast  ;  and  as  Eastern  mothers  usually  suckle  their 
children  for  two  years,  he  issued  his  fell  mandate  to  slay 
all  the  children  of  Bethlehem  and  its  neighborhood  *'  from 
two  years  old  and  under."  Of  the  method  by  which  the 
decree  was  carried  out  we  know  nothing.  The  children 
may  have  been  slain  secretly,  gi'adually  and  by  various 
forms  of  murder  ;  or,  as  has  been  generally  supposed, 
there  may  have  been  one  single  hour  of  dreadful  butchery. 
The  decrees  of  tyrants  like  Herod  are  usually  involved  in 
a  deadly  obscurity  ;  they  reduce  the  world  to  a  torpor  in 
which  it  is  hardly  safe  to  speak  above  a  whisper.  But  the 
wild  wail  of  anguish  which  rose  from  the  mothers  thus 
cruelly  robbed  of  their  infant  children  could  not  be  hushed, 
and  they  who  heard  it  might  well  imagine  that  Rachel, 
the  great  ancestress  of  their  race,  whose  tomb  stands  by 
the  road-side  about  a  mile  from  Bethlehem,  once  more,  as 
in  the  pathetic  image  of  the  prophet,  mingled  her  voice 
with  the  mourning  and  lamentation  of  those  who  wept  so 
inconsolably  for  their  murdered  little  ones. 

To  us  there  seems  sometliing  inconceivable  in  a  crime  so 
atrocious  ;  but  our  thoughts  have  been  softened  by  eight- 
een centuries  of  Christianity,  and  such  deeds  are  by  no 
means  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  heathen  despots 
and  of  the  ancient  world.  Infanticide  of  a  deeper  dye 
than  this  of  Herod's  was  a  crime  dreadfully   rife  in  the 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT.  21 

days  of  the  Empire  ;  and  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents, 
as  well  as  the  motives  which  led  to  it,  caii  be  illustrated  by 
several  circumstances  in  the  history  of  this  very  epoch. 
Suetonius,  in  his  Life  of  Augustus,  quotes  from  the  life  of 
the  Emperor  by  his  freedman  Julius  Marathus,  a  story  to 
the  effect  tliat  shortly  before  his  birth  there  was  a  prophecy 
in  Rome  that  a  kiiig  over  the  Roman  people  would  soon  be 
born.  To  obviate  this  danger  to  the  Republic,  the  Senate 
ordered  that  all  the  male  children  born  in  that  year  should 
be  abandoned  or  exposed  ;  but  the  Senators  whose  wives 
were  pregnant  took  means  to  prevent  the  ratification  of 
the  statute,  because  each  .of  them  hoped  that  the  prophecy 
might  refer  to  his  own  child.  Again,  Eusebius  quotes 
from  Ilegesippus,  a  Jew  by  birth,  a  story  that  Domitian, 
alarmed  by  the  growing  power  of  the  name  of  Christ, 
issued  an  order  to  destroy  all  the  descendants  of  the  house 
of  David.  Two  grandchildren  of  St.  Jude — "  the  Lord's 
brotlier " — were  still  living,  and  were  known  as  the 
Desjjosyni.  They  were  betrayed  to  the  Emperor  by  a  cer- 
tain Jocatus,  and  other  NazartBan  heretics,  and  were 
brought  into  the  imperial  presence  ;  but  when  Domitian 
observed  that  they  only  held  the  rank  of  peasants,  and 
that  their  hands  were  hard  with  manual  toil,  he  dismissed 
them  in  safety  with  a  mixture  of  pity  and  contempt. 

Although  doubts  have  been  thrown  on  the  Massacre  of 
the  Innocents,  it  is  profoundly  in  accordance  with  all  that 
Ave  know  of  Herod's  character.  The  master-j^assions  of 
that  able  but  wicked  prince  were  a  most  nnbounded  am- 
bition, and  a  most  excruciating  jealousy.  His  whole 
career  was  red  with  the  blood  of  murder.  He  had  massacred 
priests  and  nobles  ;  he  had  decimated  the  Sanhedrin;  he 
had  caused  the  High  Priest,  his  brotlier-in-law,  the  young 
and  noble  Aristobulus,  to  be  drowned  in  pretended  sport 
before  his  eyes  ;  he  had  ordered  the  strangulation  of  his 
favorite  wife,  the  beautiful  Asmoiuean  princess  Mariamne, 
though  she  seems  to  have  been  the  oidy  human  being 
whom  he  passionately  loved.  His  sons  Alexander,  Aristo- 
bulus, and  Antipater — his  Uncle  Joseph — Antigonus  and 
Alexander,  the  uucle  and  father  of  his  wife — his  mother- 
in-law  Alexandra — his  kinsman  Cortobanus — his  friends 
Dositheus  and  Gadias,  were  but  a  few  of  the  multitudes 
who  fell  victims  to  his  sanguinary,  suspicious  and  guilty 


22  TEE  LIFE  OF  CUEIST. 

terrors.  His  brother  Pheroras  and  his  son  Archelaus 
barely  and  narrowly  escaped  execution  by  his  orders. 
Neither  the  blooming  youth  of  the  prince  Aristobulus,  nor 
the  white  hairs  of  the  king  llyrcanus,  had  protected  them 
from  his  fawning  and  treacherous  fury.  Deaths  by  stran- 
gulation, deaths  by  burning,  deaths  by  being  cleft  asunder, 
deaths  by  secret  assassination,  confessions  forced  by  unut- 
terable torture,  acts  of  insolent  and  inhuman  lust,  mark 
the  annals  of  a  reign  which  was  so  cruel  that,  in  the  ener- 
getic language  of  the  Jewish  ambassadors  to  the  Emperor 
Augustus,  "the  survivors  during  his  lifetime  were  even 
more  miserable  than  the  sufferers."  And  as  in  the  case  of 
Henry  VIII,  every  dark  and  brutal  instinct  of  his  charac- 
ter seemed  to  acquire  fresh  intensity  as  his  life  drew  toward 
its  close.  Haunted  by  the  specters  of  his  murdered  wife 
and  murdered  sons,  agitated  by  the  conflicting  furies  of 
remorse  and  blood,  the  pitiless  monster,  as  Joseph  us  calls 
him,  was  seized  in  his  last  days  by  a  black  and  bitter 
ferocity,  which  broke  out  against  all  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact.  There  is  no  conceivable  difficulty  in  suppos- 
ing that  such  a  man — a  savage  barbarian  with  a  thin 
veneer  of  corrupt  and  superficial  civilization — would  have 
acted  in  the  exact  manner  which  St,  Matthew  describes; 
and  the  belief  in  the  fact  receives  independent  confirmation 
from  various  sources.  "On  Augustus  being  informed," 
says  Macrobius,  "that  among  tJie  boys  under  two  years  of 
aye  whom  Herod  ordered  to  be  slain  in  Syria,  his  own  son 
also  had  been  slain."  "It  is  better,"  said  he,  "to  be  Herod's 
pig  {uv)  than  his  son  {viov)."  Although  Macrobius  is  a 
late  writer,  and  made  the  mistake  of  supposing  that  Herod's 
son  Anti[)ater,  who  was  put  to  death  about  the  same  time 
as  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  had  actually  perished  in 
tliat  massacre,  it  is  clear  that  the  form  in  which  he  narrates 
the  bon  mot  of  Augustus,  points  to  some  dim  reminiscence 
of  this  cruel  slaughter. 

Why  then,  it  has  been  asked,  does  Josephus  make  no 
mention  of  so  infamous  an  atrocity?  Perhaps  because  it 
was  [xji-formed  so  secretly  that  he  did  not  even  know  of  it. 
Perhaps  because,  in  those  terrible  days,  the  murder  of  a 
score  of  children,  in  consequence  of  a  transient  suspicion, 
would  have  been  regarded  as  an  item  utterly  insignificant 
in  the  list  of  Herod's  murders.     Perhaps  because  it  wtis 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO  EGYPT.  23 

passed  over  in  silence  by  Nikolaus  of  Damascus,  who, 
writing  in  the  true  spirit  of  those  Helleuising  courtiers, 
who  wanted  to  make  a  political  Messiah  out  of  a  corrupt 
and  blood-stained  usurper,  magnified  all  his  jiatron's 
achievements,  and  concealed  or  palliated  all  his  crimes.  But 
the  more  probable  reason  is  that  Josephus,  whom,  in  spite 
of  all  the  immense  literary  debt  which  we  owe  to  him,  we 
can  only  regard  as  a  renegade  and  a  sycophant,  did  not 
choose  to  nuike  any  allusion  to  facts  which  were  even  re- 
motely connected  with  the  life  of  Christ.  The  single 
passage  in  which  he  alludes  to  Him  is  interpolated,  if  not 
wholly  spurious,  and  no  one  can  doubt  that  his  silence  ou 
the  subject  of  Christianity  was  as  deliberate  as  it  was 
dishonest. 

But  although  Josephus  does  not  distinctly  mention  the 
event,  yet  every  single  circumstance  which  he  does  tell  us 
about  this  very  period  of  Herod's  life  su])ports  its  proba- 
bility. At  this  very  time  two  eloquent  Jewish  teachers, 
Judas  and  Matthias,  had  incited  their  scholars  to  pull 
down  the  large  golden  eagle  which  Herod  had  placed 
above  the  great  gate  of  the  Temple.  Josephus  connects 
this  bold  attempt  with  jjremature  rumors  of  Herod's 
death  ;  but  Lardner's  conjecture  that  it  may  have  been 
further  encouraged  by  the  Messianic  hopes  freshly  kindled 
by  the  visit  of  the  Wise  Men,  is  by  no  means  impossible. 
The  attempt,  however,  was  defeated,  and  Judas  and  Mat- 
thias, with  forty  of  their  scholars,  were  burned  alive. 
With  such  crimes  as  this  before  him  on  every  page, 
Josephus  might  well  have  ignored  the  secret  assassination 
of  a  few  unweaned  infants  in  a  little  village.  Their  blood 
was  but  a  drop  in  that  crimson  river  in  which  Herod  was 
steeped  to  the  very  lips. 

It  must  have  been  very  shortly  after  the  murder  of  the 
Innocents  that  Ilei'od  died.  Only  five  days  before  his 
death  he  had  made  a  frantic  attempt  at  suicide,  and  had 
ordered  the  execution  of  his  eldest  son  Antipater.  His 
death-bed,  which  once  more  reminds  us  of  Henry  VIII, 
was  accompanied  by  circumstances  of  peculiar  horror,  and 
it  has  been  noticed  that  the  loathsome  disease  of  which  he 
died  is  liardly  mentioned  in  history,  except  in  the  case  of 
men  who  have  been  rendered  infamous  by  an  atrocity  of 
persecuting  zeal.     On  his  bed  of  intolerable  anguish,  in 


24  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

that  sple!i(lid  and  luxurious  palace  wliich  lie  had  built  for 
himself  under  the  i)alins  of  Jericho,  swollen  with  disease 
and  scorched  by  thirst — ulcerated  externally  and  glowing 
inwardly  with  a  "  soft  slow  tire" — sui'rounded  by  plotting 
sons  and  plundering  slaves,  detesting  all  and  detested  by 
all — longing  for  death  as  a  release  from  his  tortures,  yet 
dreading  it  as  the  beginning  of  worse  terrors — stung  by 
remorse,  yet  still  unslaked  with  murder — a  horror  to  all 
around  him,  yet  in  his  guilty  conscience  a  worse  terror  to 
himself — devoured  by  the  premature  corruption  of  an  an- 
ticipated grave— eaten  of  worms  as  though  visibly  smitten 
by  the  finger  of  God's  wrath,  after  seventy  years  of  success- 
ful villainy — the  wretched  old  man,  whom  men  had  called 
the  Great,  lay  in  savage  frenzy  awaiting  his  last  hour.  As 
he  knew  that  none  would  shed  one  tear  for  him,  he  deter- 
mined that  they  should  shed  many  for  thcniselves,  and 
issued  an  order  that,  under  pain  of  death,  the  principal 
families  in  the  kingdom  and  the  chiefs  of  the  tribes  should 
come  to  Jericho.  They  came,  and  then,  shutting  them  in 
the  hippodrome,  he  secretly  commanded  his  sister  Salome 
that  at  the  moment  of  his  death  they  should  all  be  mas- 
sacred. And  so,  choking  as  it  were  with  blood,  devising 
massacres  in  its  very  delirium,  the  soul  of  Herod  passed 
forth  into  the  night. 

In  purple  robes,  with  crown  and  scepter  and  precious 
stones,  the  corpse  was  placed  upon  its  splendid  bier,  and 
accompanied  with  military  pomp  and  burning  incense  to 
its  grave  in  the  Ilerodium,  not  far  from  the  place  where 
Christ  was  born.  But  the  spell  of  the  Ilei-odian  dominion 
was  broken,  and  tlie  people  saw  how  illusory  had  been  its 
glittering  fascination.  The  day  of  Herod's  death  was,  as 
he  had  foreseen,  observed  as  a  festival.  His  will  was  dis- 
puted; his  kingdom  disintegrated;  his  last  order  was  dis- 
obeyed; his  sons  died  for  the  most  part  in  infamy  and  exile; 
the  curse  of  God  was  on  his  house,  and  though,  by  ten 
wives  and  many  concubines,  he  seems  to  have  had  nine 
sons  and  five  daughters,  yet  within  a  hundred  years  the 
family  of  the  hierodonlos  of  Ascalon  had  perished  by  dis- 
ease or  violence,  and  there  was  no  living  descendant  to 
perpetuate  his  name. 

\i  the  intimation  of  Herod's  death  was  speedily  given  to 
Joseph,  the  stay  in  Egypt  must  have  been  too  short  to  in- 


THE  FLIGHT  INIO  EGYPT.  25 

fliience  in  any  way  the  human  development  of  our  Lord. 
This  may  perhaps  be  the  reason  why  St.  Luke  passes  it 
over  in  silence. 

It  seems  to  have  been  the  first  intention  of  Joseph  to  fix 
his  home  in  Bethlehem.  It  was  the  city  of  his  ancestors, 
and  was  hallowed  by  many  beautiful  and  heroic  associa- 
tions. It  would  have  been  easy  to  find  a  living  there  by  a 
trade  which  must  almost  anywhere  have  supplied  tlie  sim- 
ple wants  of  a  peasant  family.  It  is  true  that  an  Oriental 
rarely  leaves  his  home,  but  when  he  has  been  compelled  by 
circumstances  to  do  so,  he  finds  it  comparatively  easy  to 
settle  elsewhere.  Having  once  been  summoned  to  Bethle- 
hem, Joseph  might  find  a  powerful  atti-action  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  little  town  to  .Jerusalem;  and  the  more  so  since 
it  had  recently  been  the  scene  of  such  memorable  circum- 
stances. But,  on  his  way,  he  was  met  by  the  news  that 
Archelaus  ruled  in  the  room  of  his  father  Herod.  The 
people  would  only  too  gladly  have  got  rid  of  the  whole 
Idumaean  race  :  at  the  worst  they  would  have  preferred 
Antipas  to  Archelaus.  But  Augustus  had  unexpectedly 
decided  in  favor  of  Archelaus,  who,  though  younger  than 
Antipas,  was  the  heir  nominated  by  the  last  will  of  his 
father;  and  as  though  anxious  to  show  that  he  was  the  true 
son  of  that  father,  Archelaus,  even  before  his  inheritance 
had  been  confirmed  by  Roman  authority,  "  had,"  as  Jose- 
phus  scornfully  remarks,  "given  to  his  subjects  a  specimen 
of  his  future  virtue,  by  ordering  a  slaughter  of  3,000  of  his 
own  countrymen  at  the  Temple."  It  was  clear  that  under 
such  a  government  there  could  be  neither  hope  nor  safety; 
and  Joseph,  obedient  once  more  to  an  intimation  of  God's 
will,  seeking  once  more  the  original  home  of  himself  and 
Mary,  "turned  aside  into  the  parts  of  Galilee,"  where,  in 
remote  obscurity,  sheltered  by  poverty  and  insignificance, 
the  Holy  Family  might  live  secure  under  the  sway  of  an- 
other son  of  Herod — the  equally  unscrupulous,  but  more 
indolent  and  indifferent  Antipas. 


26  THE  LIFE  OF  CUJilST. 

CIIAPTEE  V. 

THE   BOYHOOD    OF   JESUS. 

The  physical  geograpliy  of  Palestine  is,  perhaps,  more 
distinctly  marked  than  that  of  any  other  country  in  the 
world.  Along  the  shore  of  the  Mediterranean  runs  the 
Sliephelah  and  the  maritime  plain,  broken  only  by  the 
bold  spur  of  Mount  Carmel;  parallel  to  this  is  along  range 
of  hills,  for  the  most  part  rounded  and  featureless  in  their 
character  ;  these,  ou  their  eastern  side,  plunge  into  the 
deep  declivity  of  El  Ghor,  the  Jordan  valley  ;  and  beyond 
the  Jordan  valley  runs  the  straight,  unbroken,  purple  line 
of  the  mountains  of  Moab  and  Gilead.  Thus  the  character 
of  the  country  from  north  to  soutli  may  be  represented  by 
four  parallel  bands — the  Sea-board,  the  Hill  country,  the 
Jordan  valley,  and  the  Trans-Jordanic  range. 

The  Hill  country,  which  thus  occupies  the  space  between 
the  low  maritime  plain  and  the  deep  Jordan  valley,  falls 
into  two  great  masses,  the  continuity  of  the  low  mountain- 
range  being  broken  by  the  plain  of  Jezreel.  The  southern 
mass  of  those  limestone  hills  formed  the  land  of  Judea  ; 
the  northern,  the  land  of  Galilee. 

Gain,  in  Hebrew,  means  "a  circle,"  and  the  name  was 
originally  applied  to  the  twenty  cities  in  the  circuit  of 
Kedesh-Naphtali,  which  Solomon  gave  to  Hiram  in  return 
for  his  services  in  transporting  timber,  and  to  which 
Hiram,  in  extreme  disgust,  applied  the  name  of  CaMd,  or 
"■disgusting."  Thus  it  seems  to  have  been  always  the 
destiny  of  Galilee  to  be  despised  ;  and  that  contempt  was 
likely  to  be  fostered  in  the  minds  of  the  Jews  from  the 
fact  that  this  district  became,  from  very  early  days,  the  resi- 
dence of  a  mixed  population,  and  was  distinguished  as 
"  Galilee  of  the  Gentiles."  Not  oidy  were  there  many 
Phoenicians  and  Arabs  in  the  cities  of  Galilee,  but,  in  the 
time  of  our  Lord,  there  were  also  many  Greeks,  and 
the  Greek  language  was  currently  spoken  and  understood. 

The  hills  which  form  the  northern  limit  of  the  plain  of 
Jezreel  run  almost  due  east  and  west  from  the  Jordan 
valley  to  the  Mediterranean,  and  their  southern  slopes 
were  in  the  district  assigned  to  the  tribe  of  Zebulun. 


THE  BOYHOOD  OF  JESUS.  27 

Almost  in  the  center  of  this  chain  of  hills  there  is  a  sin- 
gular cleft  in  the  limestone,  forming  the  entrance  to  a 
little  valley.     As  tlie  traveler  leaves  the  plain  he  will  ride 
up  a  steep  and   narrow  pathway,  broidered  with  grass  and 
flowers,  through  scenery  which  is  neither  colossal  nor  over- 
whelming, but  infinitely  beautiful  and  picturesque.     Be- 
neath him,  on  the  right  hand  side,  the  vale  will  gradually 
widen,  until   it   becomes  about   a   qiuirter   of   a   mile   in 
breadth.     The  basin  of  the  valley  is  divided  by  hedges  of 
cactus  into  little  fields  and  gardens,  which,  about  the  fall 
of  the  spring  rains,  wear  an  aspect  of  indescribable  calm, 
and  glow  with  a  tint  of  the   ricliest    green.     Beside  the 
narrow   pathway,  at   no   great  distance   apart   from  each 
other,  are  two  wells,  and  the  women  who  draw  water  there 
are  more  beautiful,  and  the  ruddy,  bright-eyed  shepherd- 
bovs  who  sit  or  play  by  the  well-sides,  in  their  gay-colored 
Oriental  costume,  are  a  happier,  bolder,  brighter-looking 
race  than  the  traveler  will  have  seen  elsewhere.     Gradually 
the  valley  opens  into  a  little  natural  amphitiieater  of  hills, 
supposed  by  some  to  be   the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano; 
and  there,  clinging  to  the  hollows  of  a  hill,  which  rises  to 
the  height  of  some  five  hundred  feet  above  it,  lie,  "  like  a 
handful  of  pearls  in  a  goblet  of  emerald,"  the  flat  roofs 
and   narrow^streets  of  a  little  Eastern    town.     There  is  a 
small  church  :  the  massive  buildings  of  a  convent ;  the  tall 
minaret    of    a    mosque ;    a    clear,     abundant    fountain  ; 
houses  built  of  white  stone,  and  gardens  scattered  among 
them,  umbrageous  with  figs  and  olives,  and  rich  with  the 
white  and  scarlet  blossoms  of  orange  and  pomegranate.    lu 
spring,   at  least,  everything  about  the  place  looks  inde- 
scribably bright  and  soft;  doves  murmur  in  the  trees;  the 
hoopoe  flits  about  in  ceaseless  activity  ;  the  bright   blue 
roller-bird,    the  commonest   and   loveliest  bird  of  _  Pales- 
tine, flashes  like  a  living  sapphire   over  fields  which  are 
enameled  with  innumerable  flowers.     And  that  little  town 
is   En   JSUhirali,    Nazareth,    where  the  Son  of  God,    tlie 
Saviour   of   mankind,   spent   nearly  thirty   years   of    His 
mortal  life.     It  was,  in  fact.  His  home,  His  native  village 
for  all  but  three  or  four  years  of  His  life  on  earth  ;  the 
village  which  lent  its  then  ignominious  name  to  the  scornful 
title  written  upon  His  cross;  the  village  from  which  He  did 
not  disdain   to  draw  His  appellation    when  he  spake  in 


28  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

vision  to  the  persecuting  Saul.  And  along  the  narrow 
mountain-path  which  I  have  described,  His  feet  must  have 
often  trod,  for  it  is  the  only  a{)proach  by  which,  in 
returning  northward  from  Jerusalem,  lie  could  have 
reached  the  home  of  His  infancy,  youth  and  manhood. 

What  was  His  manner  of  life  during  those  thirty  years? 
It  is  a  question  which  the  Christian  cannot  help  asking  in 
deep  reverence,  and  with  yearning  love;  but  the  words  in 
which  the  Gospels  answer  it  are  very  calm  and  very  few. 

Of  the  four  Evangelists,  St.  John,  the  beloved  disciple, 
and  St.  Mark,  the  friend  and  "son  "of  St.  Peter,  pass 
over  these  thirty  years  in  absolute,  unbroken  silence.  St. 
Matthew  devotes  one  chapter  to  the  visit  of  the  Magi  and 
the  Flight  into  Egypt,  and  then  proceeds  to  the  i)reaching 
of  the  Baptist.  St.  Luke  alone,  after  describing  the  inci- 
dents which  marked  the  presentation  in  the  Temple,  pre- 
serves for  us  one  inestimable  anecdote  of  the  Saviour's  boy- 
hood, and  one  inestimable  verse  descriptive  of  His  growth 
till  He  was  twelve  years  old.  And  that  verse  contains 
nothing  for  the  gratification  of  our  curiosity;  it  furnishes 
ns  Avith  no  details  of  life,  no  ii^cidents  of  adventure  ;  it 
tells  us  only  how,  in  a  sweet  and  holy  childhood,  "  the 
child  grew  and  waxed  strong  in  spirit,  filled  with  wisdom, 
and  the  grace  of  God  was  upon  Him."  To  this  period  of 
His  life,  too,  we  may  apply  the  subsequent  verse,  "  And 
Jesus  increased  in  wisdom  and  stature,  and  in  favor 
with  God  and  man."  His  development  was  a  strictly 
human  development.  He  did  not  come  into  the  world 
endowed  with  infinite  knowledge,  but,  as  St.  Luke  tells  us, 
"  He  gradually  advanced  in  wisdom."  He  was  not  clothed 
Avith  infinite  power,  but  experienced  the  weaknesses  and 
imperfections  of  human  infancy.  He  grew  as  other  chil- 
dren grow,  only  in  a  childhood  of  stainless  and  sinless 
beauty — "  as  the  flower  of  roses  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
and  as  lilies  by  the  waters." 

There  is,  then,  for  the  most  part  a  deep  silence  in  the 
Evangelists  respecting  this  period;  but  what  eloquence  in 
their  silence  !  May  we  not  find  in  their  very  reticence  a 
wisdom  and  an  instruction  more  profound  than  if  they 
had  filled  many  volumes  with  minor  details? 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  see  in  this  their  silence  a 
signal   and   striking   confirmation   of   their   faithfulness. 


TBE  BOYHOOD  OF  JESUS.  29 

We  may  learn  from  it  that  they  desired  to  tell  the  simple 
truth,  "and  not  to  construct  an  astonishing  or  plausible 
narrative.  That  Christ  should  have  passed  thirty  years  of 
His  brief  life  in  the  deep  obscurity  of  a  provincial  vilhige; 
that  He  should  have  been  brouglit  up  not  only  in  a  con- 
quered land,  but  in  its  most  despised  province  ;  not  only 
in  a  despised  province,  but  in  its  most  disregarded  valley; 
that  during  all  those  thirty  years  the  ineffable  brightness 
of  His  divine  nature  should  have  tabernacled  among  us, 
"in  a  tent  like  ours,  and  of  the  same  material,"  unnoticed 
and  unknown;  that  during  those  long  years  there  should 
have  been  no  flash  of  splendid  circumstance,  no  outburst 
of  amazing  miracle,  no  ''sevenfold  chorus  of  hallelujahs 
and  harping  symphonies"  to  announce,  and  reveal,  and 
glorify  the  coming  King — this  is  not  what  we  should  have 
expected — not  what  any  one  would  have  been  likely  to  im- 
agine or  to  invent. 

We  should  not  have  expected  it,  but  it  was  so ;  and 
therefore  the  Evangelists  leave  it  so;  and  the  very  fact  of 
its  contradicting  all  that  we  should  have  imagined  is  an 
additional  proof  that  so  it  must  have  been.  An  additional 
proof,  because  the  Evangelists  must  inevitably  have  been — 
as,  indeed,  we  know  that  they  were — actuated  by  the  same 
a  jjriori  anticipations  as  ourselves;  and  had  there  been  any 
glorious  circumstances  attending  the  boyhood  of  our  Lord, 
they,  as  honest  witnesses,  would  certainly  have  told  us  of 
them ;  and  had  they  not  been  honest  witnesses,  they 
would — if  none  such  occurred  in  reality — have  most  cer- 
tainly invented  them.  But  man's  ways  are  not  as  God's 
ways  ;  and  because  the  truth  which  by  their  very  silence 
the  Evangelists  record  is  a  revelation  to  us  of  the  ways  of 
God,  and  not  of  man,  therefore  it  contradicts  what  we 
should  have  invented;  it  disappoints  what  without  further 
enlightenment,  we  should  have  desired.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  fulfills  the  ideal  of  ancient  prophecy,  "  He 
shall  grow  up  before  him  as  a  tender  plant,  and  as  a  root 
out  of  a  dry  ground;"  and  it  is  in  accordance  with  subse- 
quent allusion,  "He  made  Himself  of  no  reputation,  and 
took  upon  Him  the  form  of  a  servant." 

We  have  only  to  turn  to  the  Apocryphal  Gospels,  and  we 
.shall  find  how  widely  different  is  tliefals(!  human  ideal  from 
I  lie  divine  fact.     There  we  shall  see  how,  following  their 


30  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

iiatuviil  and  unspiritual  bent,  the  fabulists  of  Chvistonclom, 
whclher  heretical  or  orthodox,  sui'roiind  Clirist's  boyhood 
with  a  bhize  of  miracle,  make  it  portentous,  terror-striking, 
unnatural,  repulsive.  It  is  surely  an  astonishing  proof 
that  the  Evangelists  were  guided  by  the  Hpii'it  of  God  in 
telling  how  He  lived  in  whom  God  was  revealed  to  man, 
when  we  gradually  discover  that  no  profane,  no  irreverent, 
even  no  imaginative  hand  can  touch  the  sacred  outlines  of 
that  divine  and  perfect  picture  without  degrading  and  dis- 
torting it.  Whether  the  Apocryphal  writers  meant  their 
legends  to  be  accepted  as  history  or  as  fiction,  it  is  at  least 
certain  that  in  most  cases  they  meant  to  weave  around  the 
brows  of  Christ  a  garland  of  honor.  Yet  how  do  their  stories 
dwarf,  and  dishonor,  and  misintei'pret  llim!  How  infinitely 
superior  is  the  noble  simplicity  of  that  evangelic  silence 
to  all  the  theatrical  displays  of  childish  and  meaningless 
omnipotence  witli  winch  the  Protevangelium,  and  the 
Pseudo-Matthew,  and  the  Arabic  Gospel  of  the  Infancy 
are  full !  They  meant  to  honor  Christ;  but  no  invention 
can  honor  Him;  he  who  invents  about  Him  degrades  Him; 
he  mixes  the  weak,  imperfect,  erring  fancies  of  man  with 
the  unapproachable  and  awful  purposes  of  God.  The  boy 
Christ  of  the  Gospels  is  simple  and  sweet,  obedient  and 
humble;  He  is  subject  to  His  parents;  He  is  occupied 
solely  with  the  quiet  duties  of  His  home  and  of  His  age; 
He  loves  all  men,  and  all  men  love  the  pure,  and  gracious, 
and  noble  child.  Already  He  knows  God  as  His  Father, 
and  the  favor  of  God  falls  on  Him  softly  as  the  morning 
sunlight  or  the  dew  of  heaven,  and  plays  like  an  invisible 
aureole  round  His  infantile  and  saintly  brow.  Unseen, 
save  in  the  beauty  of  heaven,  but  yet  covered  witli  silver 
wings,  and  with  its  feathers  like  gold,  the  Spirit  of  God 
descended  like  a  dove,  and  rested  from  infancy  u])on  the 
Holy  Child. 

But  how  different  is  the  boy  Christ  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament Apocrypha!  He  is  mischievous,  petulant,  forward, 
revengeful.  Some  of  the  marvels  told  of  Him  are  simply 
aimless  and  puerile — as  when  He  carries  the  spilt  water  in 
His  robe  ;  or  pulls  the  short  board  to  the  requisite  length  ; 
or  molds  sparrows  of  clay,  and  then  claps  His  hand  to  niake 
them  fly  ;  or  throws  all  the  cloth  into  the  dyer's  vat,  and 
then  draws  them  out  eaeli   stuined  of  the   requisite   color. 


THE  BOYHOOD  OF  JEStTS  31 

But  some  are,  on  the  contmiy,  simply  distasteful  and  in- 
considerate, as  wlien  lie  vexes  and  shames  and  silences 
those  who  wish  to  teach  him;  or  rebukes  Joseph;  or  turns 
His  playmates  into  kids  ;  and  others  are  simply  cruel  and 
blasphemous,  as  when  lie  sti-ikes  dead  with  a  curse  the 
boys  who  offend  or  run  against  Him,  until  at  last  there  is 
a  storm  of  popular  indignation,  and  Mary  is  afraid  to  let 
Him  leave  the  house.  In  a  careful  search  through  all 
these  heavy,  tasteless  and  frequently  pernicious  fictions,  I 
can  find  but  one  anecdote  in  which  there  is  a  touch  of  feel- 
ing or  possibility  of  truth  ;  and  this  alone  I  will  quote,  be- 
cause it  is  at  any  rate  harmless,  and  it  is  quite  conceivable 
that  it  may  rest  upon  some  slight  basis  of  traditional  fact. 
It  is  from  the  Arabic  Gospel  of  the  Infancy,  and  runs  as 
follows: 

"  Now  in  the  month  of  Adar,  Jesus  assembled  the  boys 
as  if  He  were  there  king  ;  they  strewed  their  garments  on 
the  ground,  and  He  sat  upon  them.  Then  they  put  on 
His  head  a  crown  wreathed  of  flowers,  and,  like  attendants 
waiting  upon  a  king,  they  stood  in  order  before  Him  on 
His  right  hand  and  on  His  left.  And  whoever  passed  that 
way  the  boys  took  him  by  force,  crying,  '  Come  hither  and 
adore  the  King,  and  then  proceed  upon  thy  way.'" 

Yet  I  am  not  sure  that  the  sacred ness  of  the  evangelic 
silence  is  not  rudely  impaired  even  by  so  simple  a  fancy  as 
this  :  for  it  was  in  utter  stillness,  in  prayerfulness,  in  the 
quiet  round  of  daily  duties — like  Moses  in  the  wilderness, 
like  David  among  the  sheep-folds,  like  Elijah  among  the 
tents  of  the  Bedawin,  like  Jeremiah  in  his  quiet  home  at 
Anathoth,  like  Amos  in  the  Sycamore  groves  at  Tekoa — 
that  the  boy  Jesus  prepared  Himself,  amid  a  hallowed  ob- 
scurity, for  His  mighty  work  on  earth.  His  outward  life 
was  the  life  of  all  those  of  His  age,  and  station,  and  place 
of  birth.  He  lived  as  lived  the  other  children  of  peasant 
parents  in  that  quiet  town,  and  in  great  measure  as  they 
live  now.  He  who  has  seen  the  children  of  Nazareth  in 
their  red  caftans,  and  bright  tunics  of  silk  or  cloth,  girded 
with  a  many-colored  sash,  and  sometimes  covered  with  a 
loose  outer' jacket  of  white  or  blue — he  who  has  watched 
tiieir  noisy  and  merry  games,  and  heard  their  ringing 
laughter  as  they  wander  about  the  hills  of  their  native  little 
vale,  or  play  in  bauds  on   the  hill-side  beside  their  sweet 


32  TUB  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

jind  {ihuiulant  foiintuiTi,  may  perhaps  form  some  concep- 
tion ol  how  Jesus  looked  and  phiyed  when  he  too  was  a 
chihl.  And  the  traveler  who  has  followed  any  of  those 
children— as  I  have  done — to  their  simple  homes,  and  seen 
the  scanty  fnrniture,  the  plain  hut  sweet  and  wholesome 
food,  the  uneventful,  happy  patriarchal  life,  may  form  a 
vivid  conception  of  the  manner  in  which  Jesus  lived. 
Nothing  can  be  plainer  than  those  houses,  with  the  doves 
sunning  themselves  on  the  white  roofs,  and  the  vines 
wreathing  about  them.  The  mats,  or  carpets,  are  laid 
loose  along  the  walls  ;  shoes  and  sandals  are  taken  off  at 
the  threshold ;  from  the  center  hangs  a  lamp,  which 
forms  the  only  ornament  of  the  room;  in  some  recess  in  the 
wall  is  placed  the  wooden  chest,  painted  with  bright  colors, 
which  contains  the  books  or  other  possessions  of  the  family; 
on  a  ledge  that  runs  round  the  wall,  within  easy  reach,  are 
neatly  rolled  up  the  gay-colorefl  quilts,  which  serve  as  beds, 
and  on  the  same  ledge  are  ranged  the  earthen  vessels  for 
daily  use  ;  near  the  door  stand  the  large  common  water- 
jars  of  red  clay  with  a  few  twigs  and  green  leaves — often 
of  aromatic  shrubs — thrust  into  their  orifices  to  keep  the 
water  cool.  At  meal-time  a  painted  wooden  stool  is 
placed  in  the  center  of  the  apartment,  a  large  tray  is  put 
upon  it,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  tray  stands  the  dish  of 
rice  and  meat,  or  lihldn,  or  stewed  fruits,  from  which  all 
help  themselves  in  common.  Both  before  and  after  the 
meal  the  servant,  or  the  youngest  member  of  the  famil}', 
pours  water  over  the  hands  from  a  brazen  ewer  into  a 
brazen  bowl.  So  quiet,  so  simple,  so  humble,  so  unevent- 
ful was  the  outward  life  of  the  family  of  Nazareth. 

The  reverent  devotion  and  brilliant  fancy  of  the  early 
mediiBval  painters  have  elaborated  a  very  different  picture. 
The  gorgeous  pencils  of  a  Giotto  and  a  Fra  Angelico  have 
painted  the  Virgin  and  her  Child  seated  on  stately  thrones, 
upon  floors  of  s])lendid  mosaic,  under  canopies  of  blue  and 
gold;  they  have  robed  them  in  colors  rich  as  the  hues  of 
summer  or  delicate  as  tlie  flowers  of  spring,  and  fitted  the 
edges  of  their  robes  with  golden  embroidery,  and  clasped 
them  with  priceless  gems.  Far  different  was  the  reality. 
When  Joseph  returned  to  Nazareth  he  knew  well  that  they 
were  going  into  seclusion  as  well  as  into  safety  ;  and  that 
the  life  of  the  Virgin  and  the  Holy  Child  would  be  spent. 


THE  BOYHOOD  OF  JESUS.  33 

not  in  the  full  light  of  notoriety  or  weultli,  but  in  socrecy, 
in  poverty,  and  in  manual  toil. 

Yet  this  poverty  was  not  pauperism  ;  there  was  nothing 
in  it  either  miserable  or  abject ;  it  was  sweet,  simple,  con- 
tented, happy,  even  joyous.  Mary,  like  others  of  her  rank, 
would  spin,  and  cook  food,  and  go  to  buy  fruit,  and  even- 
ing by  evening  visit  the  fountain,  still  called  after  her 
"the  Virgin's  fountain,"  with  her  pitcher  of  earthenware 
carried  on  her  shoulder  or  her  head.  Jesus  would  play, 
and  learn,  and  help  His  parents  in  their  daily  tasks,  and 
visit  the  synagogues  on  the  Sabbath  days.  "  It  is  written," 
says  Luther,  "that  there  was  once  a  pious  godly  bishop, 
who  had  often  earnestly  prayed  that  God  would  manifest 
to  him  what  Jesus  had  done  in  His  youth.  Once  the 
bishop  had  a  dream  to  this  effect.  He  seemed  in  his  sleep 
to  see  a  carpenter  working  at  his  trade,  and  beside  him  a 
little  boy  who  was  gathering  up  chips.  Then  came  in  a 
maiden  clothed  in  gi-een,  who  called  them  both  to  come  to 
the  meal,  and  set  porridge  before  them.  All  this  the 
bishop  seemed  to  see  in  his  dream,  himself  standing  behind 
the  door  that  he  might  not  be  perceived.  Then  the  little 
boy  began  and  said,  '  Why  does  that  man  stand  there  ? 
shall  he  not  also  eat  with  us?'  And  this  so  frightened  the 
bishoiJ  that  he  awoke."  "  Let  this  be  what  it  may,"  adds 
Luther,  "a  true  history  or  a  fable,  I  none  the  less  believe 
that  Christ  in  His  childhood  and  youth  looked  and  acted 
like  other  child  i-en,  yet  without  sin,  in  fashion  like  a  man.'' 

St.  Matthew  tells  us,  that  in  the  settlement  of  the  Holy 
Family  at  Nazareth,  was  fulfilled  that  which  was  spoken 
by  the  prophets,  "  He  shall  be  called  a  Nazarene."  It  is 
well-known  that  no  such  passage  occurs  in  any  extant 
prophecy.  If  the  name  implied  a  contemptuous  dislike — 
as  may  be  inferred  from  the  proverbial  question  of  Na- 
thanael,  "Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Nazareth?" — 
then  St.  Matthew  may  be  summing  up  in  that  expression 
the  various  prophecies  so  little  understood  by  his  nation, 
which  pointed  to  the  Messiah  as  a  man  of  sorrows.  And 
certainly  to  this  day  "  Nazarene  "  has  continued  to  be  a 
term  of  contempt.  The  Talmudists  always  speak  of  Jesus 
as  "Ha-nozeri;"  Julian  is  said  to  have  expressly  decreed 
that  Christians  should  be  called  by  the  less  honorable 
appellation  of  Galila^ans;  and  to  this  day  the  Christians  of 


34  THE  LIFE  OF  CnuiST. 

Palestine  are  known  by  no  other  title  than  Nusara.  But 
the  explanation  which  refers  St.  Matthew's  allusion  to 
those  passages  of  prophecy  in  which  Ciirist  is  called  "■  the 
Branch"  (nefser),  seems  far  more  probaI)le.  The  village 
may  have  derived  this  name  from  no  other  circumstance 
than  its  abundant  foliage;  but  the  Old  Testament  is  full 
of  proofs  that  the  Hebrews— who  in  philology  accepted  the 
views  of  the  Analogists — attached  immense  and  mystical 
importance  to  mere  resemblances  in  the  sound  of  words. 
To  mention  but  one  single  instance,  the  first  chapter  of 
the  prophet  Micah  turns  almost  entirely  on  such  merely 
external  similarities  in  what,  for  lack  of  a  better  term,  I 
can  only  call  the  physiological  quantity  of  sounds.  St. 
Matthew,  a  Hebrew  of  the  Hebrews,  would  without  any 
hesitation  have  seen  a  prophetic  fitness  in  Christ's  resi- 
dence at  this  town  of  Galilee,  because  its  name  recalled  the 
title  by  which  he  was  addressed  in  the  prophecy  of  Isaiah. 
"Shall  the  Christ  come  out  of  Galilee?"  asked  the 
wandering  people.  "  Search  and  look  !"  said  the  Rabbis 
to  Nicodemus,  "for  out  of  Galilee  ariseth  no  prophet" 
(John  vii.  41,  52).  It  would  not  have  needed  very  deep 
searching  or  looking  to  find  that  these  words  were  igno- 
rant or  false;  for  not  to  speak  of  Barak  the  deliverer,  and 
Elon  the  judge,  and  Anna  the  prophetess,  three,  if  not 
four,  of  the  prophets — and  those  prophets  of  the  highest 
eminence,  Jonah,  Elijah,  Hosea  and  Nahum — had  been 
born,  or  had  exercised  much  of  their  ministry,  in  the  pre- 
cincts of  Galilee.  And  in  spite  of  the  supercilious  con- 
tempt with  which  it  was  regarded,  the  little  town  of 
Nazareth,  situated  as  it  was  in  a  healthy  and  secluded 
valley,  yet  close  upon  the  confines  of  great  nations,  and  in 
the  center  of  a  mixed  population,  was  eminently  fitted  to 
be  the  home  of  our  Saviour's  childhood,  the  scene  of  that 
quiet  growth  "in  wisdom,  and  stature,  and  favor  with 
God  and  man." 


JESUS  m  THE  TEMPLE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JESUS   IN   THE   TEMPLE. 


Even  as  there  is  one  hemisphere  of  the  Innar  surface  on 
which,  in  its  entirety,  no  human  eye  has  ever  gazed,  while 
at  the  same  time  the  moon's  librations  enables  us  to  con- 
jecture of  its  general  character  and  appearance,  so  there  is 
one  large  portion  of  our  Lord's  life  res])ecting  which  there 
is  no  full  record  ;  yet  such  glimpses  are,  as  it  were,  ac- 
corded to  us  at  its  outer  edge,  that  from  these  we  are  able 
to  understand  the  nature  of  the  whole. 

Asain,  when  the  moon  is  in  crescent,  a  few  bright  points 
are  visible  through  the  telescope  npon  its  unilluminated. 
part;  those  bright  points  are  mountain  peaks,  so  lofty  that 
they  catch  tlie  sunlight.  One  such  point  of  splendor  and 
majesty  is  revealed  to  us  in  the  otherwise  unknown  region 
of  Christ's  youthful  year?,  nnd  it  is  sufficient  to  furnish  us 
with  a  real  insight  into  th.il  entire  portion  of  His  life.  In. 
modern  language  we  should  call  it  an  anecdote  of  the 
Saviour's  confirmation. 

The  age  of  twelve  years  was  a  critical  age  for  a  Jewish 
boy.  It  was  the  age  at  which,  according  to  Jewish  legend, 
Moses  had  left  the  house  of  Pharaoh's  daughter  ;  and 
Samuel  had  heard  the  Voice  which  summoned  him  to  the 
prophetic  office  ;  and  Solomon  hnd  given  the  judgment 
which  first  revealed  his  possession  of  wisdom  ;  and  Josiah 
had  first  dreamed  of  his  great  reform.  At  this  age  a  boy 
of  whatever  rank  was  obliged,  by  the  injunction  of  the 
Rabbis  and  the  custom  of  his  nation,  to  learn  a  trade  for 
his  own  support.  At  this  age  he  was  so  far  emancipated 
from  parental  authority  that  his  parents  could  no  longer 
sell  him  as  a  slave.  At  this  age  he  became  a  ben  liat-torah, 
or  "  Son  of  the  Law."  Up  to  this  age  he  was  called  katon, 
or  "little;"  henceforth  he  was  gacUil,  or  "grown  up,"  and 
was  treated  more  as  a  man  ;  henceforth,  too,  he  began  to 
wear  the  tephilUn,  or  "  phylacteries,"  and  was  presented 
by  his  father  in  the  synagogue  on  a  Sabbath,  wliich  was 
called  from  this  circumstance  the  shnbbath  iephillln.  Nay, 
more,   according  to   one   Rabbinical  treatise,    the    Sepher 


36  THE  LIFE  OF  VHUIST. 

CrilgnUm,  up  to  this  aire  a  boy  only  possessed  tlie  nephesk, 
or  uiiinKil  life  ;  but  beiieel'orth  he  begun  to  acquire  the 
ruaclt,  or  spirit,  which,  if  his  life  were  virtuous,  would 
develop,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  into  the  nishona,  or  reason- 
able soul. 

This  period,  too — the  completion  of  the  twelfth  ye.ir — 
formed  a  decisive  epoch  in  a  Jewish  boy's  education. 
According  to  Jiula  Ben  Tema,  at  five  he  was  to  study  the 
Scriptures  (Mikra),  at  ten  tWe  Mishna,  at  thirteen  the 
Talmud;  at  eighteen  he  was  to  marry,  at  twenty  to  acquire 
riches,  at  thirty  strength,  at  forty  prudence,  and  so  on  to 
the  end.  Nor  must  we  forget,  in  considering  this  narra- 
tive, that  the  Hebrew  race,  and,  indeed.  Orientals  gener- 
ally, develop  with  a  precocity  unknown  among  ourselves, 
and  that  boys  of  this  age  (as  we  learn  from  Josephus) 
could  and  did  fight  in  battle,  and  that,  to  the  great  detri- 
ment of  the  race,  it  is,  to  this  day,  regarded  as  a  marriage- 
able age  among  the  Jews  of  Palestine  and  Asia  Minor. 

Now  it  was  the  custom  of  the  parents  of  our  Lord  to 
visit  Jerusalem  every  year  at  the  feast  of  the  Passover. 
Women  were,  indeed,  not  mentioned  in  the  law  which 
required  the  annnal  presence  of  all  males  at  the  three  great 
yearly  feasts  of  Passover,  Pentecost  and  Tabernacles  ;  but 
Mary,  in  pious  observance  of  the  rule  recommended  by 
Hillel,  accompanied  her  husband  every  year,  and  on  this 
occasion  they  took  with  them  the  boy  Jesus,  who  vv^as 
beginning  to  be  of  an  age  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of 
the  Law.  We  can  easily  imagine  how  powerful  must 
have  been  the  influence  upon  his  human  development 
of  this  break  in  the  still  secluded  life  ;  of  this  glimpse  into 
the  great  outer  world  ;  of  this  journey  through  a  land  of 
which  every  hill  and  every  village  teemed  with  sacred 
memories  ;  of  this  first  visit  to  that  Temple  of  His  Father 
which  was  associated  with  so  many  mighty  events  in  the 
story  of  the  kings.  His  ancestors,  and  the  prophets.  His 
forerunners. 

Nazareth  lies  from  Jerusalem  at  a  distance  of  about 
eighty  miles,  and,  in  spite  of  the  intense  and  jealous  hos- 
tility of  the  Samaritans,  it  is  probable  that  the  vast  caravati 
of  (laliUean  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  the  feast  would  go 
by  the  most  direct  and  least  dangerous  route,  which  lay 
through  the  old  tribal  territories  of  Manasseh  and  Ephraim. 


JESUS  IN  TRK  TEMPLE.  37 

Leaving  the  garland  of  hills  which  encircle  the  little  to'.vn 
in  a  manner  compared  by  St.  Jerome  to  tlie  petals  of  an 
opening  rose,  they  would  descend  the  narrow,  flower-bor- 
dered limestone  path  into  the  great  plain  of  Jezreel.  As 
the  Passover  falls  at  the  end  of  April  and  the  beginning  of 
May,  the  country  would  be  wearing  its  brightest,  greenest, 
loveliest  aspect,  and  the  edges  of  the  vast  corn-fields  on 
either  side  of  the  road  tlirough  the  vast  plain  would  be 
woven,  like  the  High  Priest's  robe,  with  the  blue  and 
purple  and  scarlet  of  innumerable  flowers.  Over  the 
streams  of  that  ancient  river,  the  river  Kishon  —  past 
Shunem,  recalling  memories  of  Elishaas  it  lay  nestling  on 
the  southern  slopes  of  Little  Ilermon — past  royal  Jezreel, 
with  the  sculptured  sarco])hagi  that  alone  bore  witness  to 
its  departed  splendor — past  the  picturesque  outline  of  bare 
and  dewless  Gilboa — past  sandy  Yaanach,  witli  its  mem- 
ories of  Sisera  and  Barak — past  Megiddo,  where  He  might 
first  have  seen  the  helmets  and  broadswords  and  eagles  of 
the  Roman  legionary — the  road  would  lie  to  En-Gannim, 
where,  beside  the  fountains,  and  amid  the  shady  and  lovely 
gardens  which  still  mark  the  spot,  they  would  probably 
have  halted  for  their  first  night's  rest.  Next  day  they 
would  begin  to  ascend  the  mountains  of  Mauasseh,  and 
crossing  the  "  Drowning  ^Meadow,"  as  it  is  now  called,  and 
winding  through  the  rich  fig-yards  and  olive-groves  that 
fill  the  valleys  round  El  Jib,  they  would  leave  npon 
the  right  the  hills  which,  in  their  glorious  beauty, 
formed  the  "  crown  of  pride  "  of  which  Samaria  boasted, 
but  which,  as  the  prophet  foretold,  should  be  as  a 
"fading  flower."  Their  second  encampment  would 
probably  be  near  Jacob's  well,  in  the  beautiful  and  fertile 
valley  between  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  and  not  far  from  the 
ancient  Shechem.  A  thiid  day's  journey  would  take  them 
past  Shiloh  and  Gibeah  of  Saul  and  Bethel  to  Beeroth  ; 
and  from  the  pleasant  springs  by  which  they  would  there 
encamp  a  short  and  easy  stage  would  bring  them  in  sight 
of  the  towers  of  Jerusalem.  The  profane  plumage  of  the 
oagle-wings  of  Koine  was  already  overshadowing  the  Holy 
City  ;  but,  towering  above  its  walls  still  glittered  the  great 
Temple  with  its  gilded  roofs  niid  marble  colonnades,  and 
it  was  still  the  Jerusaleni  of  which  royal  David  sang,  and 
for  which  the  exiles  by  the  waters  of  Babylon  had  yearned 


38  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

with  such  deep  emotion  wlieti  they  took  their  liarps  from 
the  willows  to  wjiil  the  remorseful  dirge  tliat, they  would 
remember  her  until  their  right  hands  forgot  their  cunning. 
Who  shall  fathom  the  unspeakable  emotion  with  which  the 
boy  Jesus  gazed  on  that  memorable  and  never-to-be-for- 
gotten scene. 

The  numbers  who  flocked  to  the  Passover  from  every 
region  of  the  East  might  be  counted  by  tens  of  thousands. 
There  were  far  more  than  the  city  could  by  any  possibility 
accommodate  ;  and  tlien,  as  now  at  Easter-time,  vast 
numbers  of  the  pilgrims  reared  for  themselves  the  little 
succoth — booths  of  mat,  and  wicker-work,  and  interwoven 
leaves,  which  provided  them  with  a  sufficient  shelter  for 
all  their  wants.  The  feast  lasted  for  a  week — a  week 
probably  of  deep  happiness  and  strong  religious  emotion  ; 
and  then,  with  their  mules  and  horses,  and  asses,  and 
camels,  the  vast  caravan  would  clear  away  their  temporary 
dwelling-places,  and  start  on  the  homeward  journey.  Tlie 
road  was  eidivened  by  mirth  and  music.  They  often  be- 
guiled the  tedium  of  travel  with  the  sound  of  drums  and 
timbrels,  and  paused  to  refresh  theinselves  with  dates,  or 
melons,  or  cucumbers,  and  water  drawn  in  skins  and  water- 
pots  from  every  springing  well  and  running  stream.  The 
veiled  women  and  the  stately  old  men  are  generally 
mounted,  while  their  sons  or  brothers,  with  long  sticks  in 
their  hands,  lead  along  by  a  string  their  beasts  of  burden. 
The  boys  and  children  sometimes  walk  and  play  by  the 
side  of  their  parents,  and  sometimes,  when  tired,  get  a  lift 
on  horse  or  mule.  I  can  find  no  trace  of  the  assertion  or 
conjecture  that  the  women,  and  boys,  and  men  formed 
three  separate  portions  of  the  caravan,  and  sucli  is  certainly 
not  the  custom  in  modern  times.  But,  in  any  case,  among 
such  a  sea  of  human  beings,  how  easy  would  it  be  to  lose 
one  young  boy  ! 

The  apocryphal  legend  says  that  on  the  journey  from 
Jerusalem  the  boy  Jesus  left  the  caravan  and  returned  to 
the  Holy  City.  With  far  greater  truth  and  simjDlicity  St. 
Luke  informs  us  that — absorbed  in  all  probabilty  in  the 
rush  of  new  and  elevating  emotions — He  "tarried  beliiiul 
in  Jerusalem."  A  day  elapsed  before  the  parents  dis- 
covered their  loss  ;  this  they  would  not  do  until  they  ai-- 
rived  at  the  place  of  evening  rendezvous,  and  all  day  long 


JESUS  IN  THE  TEMPLE.  39 

they  wonld  be  free  from  all  anxiety,  supposing  that  the  boy 
was  with  some  other  group  of  friends  or  relatives  in  that 
long  caravan.  But  when  evening  came,  and  tlieir  diligent 
inquiries  led  to  no  trace  of  Him,  they  would  learn  the 
bitter  fact  that  He  was  altogether  missing  from  the  band 
of  returning  pilgrims.  The  next  day,  in  alarm  and  anguish 
— perhaps,  too,  with  some  sense  of  self-reproacli  that  they 
had  not  been  more  faithful  to  their  sacred  charge — they 
retraced  their  steps  to  Jerusalem.  The  country  was  in  a 
wild  and  unsettled  state.  The  etlmaych  Archelaus,  after 
ten  years  of  a  cruel  and  disgraceful  reign,  had  recently 
been  deposed  by  the  Emperor,  and  banished  to  Vienne,  in 
Gaul.  The  Romans  had  annexed  the  province  over  wliich 
he  had  ruled,  and  the  introduction  of  their  system  of  tax- 
ation by  Coponius,  the  first  procurator,  had  kindled  the 
revolt  which,  under  Judas  of  Gamala  and  the  Pharisee 
Sadoc,  wrapped  the  whole  country  in  a  storm  of  sword  and 
flame.  This  disturbed  state  of  the  political  horizon  would 
not  only  render  their  Journey  more  difficult  when  once 
they  had  left  the  shelter  of  the  caravan,  but  would  also 
intensify  their  dread  lest,  among  all  the  wild  elements  of 
warring  nationalities  which  at  such  a  moment  were  as- 
sembled about  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  their  Son  should 
have  met  with  harm.  Truly  on  that  day  of  misery  and 
dread  must  the  sword  have  pierced  through  the  virgin 
mother's  heart ! 

Neither  on  that  day,  nor  during  the  night,  nor  through- 
out a  considerable  part  of  the  third  day,  did  they  discover 
Him,  till  at  last  they  found  Him  in  the  place  which, 
strangely  enough,  seems  to  have  been  the  last  where  they 
searched  for  him — in  the  Temple,  "sitting  in  the  midst  of 
the  doctors,  both  hearing  them  and  asking  them  questions; 
and  all  that  heard  Him  were  astonished  at  His  under- 
standing and  answers." 

The  last  expression,  no  less  than  the  entire  context,  and 
all  that  we  know  of  the  character  of  Jesus  and  the  nature 
of  the  circumstances,  shows  that  the  Boy  was  there  to  in- 
quire and  learn — not,  as  the  Arabic  Gospel  of  the  Infancy 
represents  it,  to  cross-examine  the  doctors  "each  in  turn" 
— not  to  expound  the  number  of  the  spheres  and  celestial 
bodies,  and  their  luitures  and  operations — still  less  to  "ex- 
plain physics  and   metaphysics,  hyperphysics   and   hypo- 


40  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

physics."  (!)  All  these  are  but  the  Apolliniiriun  fictions  of 
those  who  preferred  their  heretical  and  })seudo-ievereiitial 
fancies  of  what  was  fitting,  to  the  simple  truthfulness  with 
which  the  Evangelist  lets  us  see  that  Jesus,  like  other 
children,  grew  up  in  gradual  knowledge,  consistently  with 
the  natural  course  of  human  development.  He  was  there, 
as  St.  Luke  shows  us,  in  all  humility  uiul  reverence  to  His 
elders,  as  an  (mger-heartcd  and  gifted  jcai'uer  whose  en- 
thusiasm kindled  theii  admiration,  and  wluise  l)earing  won 
their  esteem  and  love.  All  tinge  of  arrogance  and  forward- 
ness was  utterly  alien  to  His  character,  which,  from  His 
sweet  childhood  upward,  was  meek  and  lowly  of  heart. 
Among  those  present  may  have  been — wliite  with  the 
snows  of  weil-nigii  a  hundred  years — the  great  Hillel,  one 
of  the  founders  of  the  Masoiah,  whom  tlie  Jews  almost 
reverence  as  a  second  Moses  ;  and  his  son,  the  Rabbaii 
Simeon,  who  thought  so  highly  of  silence;  and  his  grand- 
son, the  refined  and  liberal  Gamaliel ;  and  Shammai,  iiis 
great  rival,  a  teacher  who  numbered  a  still  vaster  host  of 
disciples ;  and  Hanan,  or  Annas,  son  of  Seth,  His  future 
judge ;  and  Boethus,  the  father-in-law  of  llerod  ;  and 
Babha  Ben  Butali,  whose  eyes  Herod  had  put  out ;  and 
Nechaniah  Ben  Hiskanah,  so  celebrated  for  his  victorious 
prayers  ;  and  Johanan  Ben  Zacchai,  who  predicted  the  de- 
struction of  the  Temple ;  and  the  wealthy  Joseph  of 
Arimathea  ;  and  the  timid  but  earnest  Nicodemus  ;  and 
the  youthful  Jonathan  Ben  Uzziel,  who  subsequently  wrote 
the  celebrated  Chaldee  paraphrase,  and  was  held  by  his 
contemporaries  in  boundless  honor.  But  though  none  of 
these  might  conjecture  Who  was  before  them — and  though 
hardly  one  of  them  lived  to  believe  on  Him,  and  some  to 
oppose  Him  in  years  to  come — which  of  them  all  would 
not  have  been  charmed  and  astonished  at  a  glorious  and 
noble-hearted  boy;  in  all  the  early  beauty  of  His  life,  who, 
though  He  had  never  learned  in  the  schools  of  the  Rabbis, 
yet  showed  so  marvellous  a  wisdom,  and  so  deep  a  knowl- 
edge in  all  things  Divine  ? 

Here  then — pei'haps  in  the  famous  Lulicath  hnygazzUh, 
or  "  Hall  of  Squares " — perhaps  in  the  Clianujoili,  or 
'*  Halls  of  Purchase,"  or  in  one  of  the  spacious  chambei's 
assigned  to  purposes  of  teaching  which  adjoined  the  Court 
of  the  Gentiles — seated,  but  doubtless  at  the  feet  of  his 


JESUS  IN  THE  TEMPLE.  41 

teachers,  on  the  many  colored  mosaic  which  formed  the 
floor,  Joseph  and  Mary  found  tlie  Divine  Boy.  Filled 
witli  that  ahnost  adoring  spirit  of  reverence  for  the  great 
priests  and  religions  teachers  of  their  day  whirJi  character- 
ized at  this  period  the  simple  and  pions  Galilasans,  they 
were  awe-strucli  to  find  Him,  calm  and  happy,  in  so 
augufet  a  presence.  They  might,  indeed,  have  known  that 
He  was  wiser  than  His  teachei's,  and  ti-anscendently  more 
great;  but  liitherto  they  had  only  known  Him  as  the 
silent,  sweet,  obedient  child,  and  perhaps  the  incessant 
contact  of  daily  life  had  blunted  the  sense  of  His  awful 
origin.  Yet  it  is  Mary,  not  Joseph,  who  alone  ventures  to 
address  Him  in  the  language  of  tender  reproach.  "  My 
child,  why  dost  'I'hon  treat  us  thus  ?  see,  thy  father  and 
I  were  seeking  Thee  witli  aching  hearts."  And  then  fol- 
lows His  answer,  so  touching  in  its  innocent  simplicity,  so 
nnfathomable  in  its  depth  of  consciousr.ess,  so  infinitely 
memorable  as  furnishing  us  with  t\\Q first  recnnled  words 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  : 

"  Why  is  it  that  ye  were  seeking  me  9  Did  ye  not  know 
that  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  business  f 

This  answer,  so  divinely  natural,  so  sublimely  noble, 
bears  upon  itself  the  certain  stamp  of  authenticity.  The 
conflict  of  thoughts  which  it  implies;  the  half-vexed  as- 
tonishment which  it  expresses  that  they  should  so  little 
nnderstand  him  ;  the  perfect  dignity,  and  yet  the  perfect 
humility  which  it  coinbiiies,  lie  wholly  beyond  the  possi- 
bility of  invention.  It  is  in  accordance,  too,  with  all  His 
ministry — in  accordance  with  that  utterance  to  the  tempter, 
"Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word 
that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God,"  and  with  that 
quiet  answer  to  the  disciples  by  the  well  of  Samaria,  "  My 
meat  is  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me,  and  to  finish 
His  work  "  Mary  had  said  unto  Him,  "  Thy  father,"  but 
in  His  reply  He  recognizes,  aiid  henceforth  He  knows,  no 
father  except  His  Father  in  heaven.  In  the  '"'  Did  ye  not 
knoio,"  He  delicately  recalls  to  them  the  fading  memory 
of  all  that  they  did  know  ;  and  in  that  "  7  must,"  He  lays 
down  the  sacred  law  of  self-sacrifice  by  which  He  was  to 
walk,  even  unto  the  death  upon  the  cross. 

"•'And  they  understood  not  the  saying  which  He  spake 
nnto  them."     They — even  they — even   the  old    num    who 


40  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

had  protoctoil  His  infancy,  and  tlie  motlier  wlio  knew  the 
awful  secret  of  His  birth— understood  not,  that  is,  not  in 
their  (/tr/>r/- sense,  the  signiticance  of  those  quiet  words. 
Strange  and  mournful  conunentary  on  the  first  recorded 
utterances  of  the  youthful  Saviour,  spoken  to  those  who 
were  nearest  and  dearest  to  llini  on  earth  !  Strange,  but 
luournfully  prophetic  of  all  his  life  :  "  He  was  in  the 
world,  and  the  world  was  made  by  Him,  and  the  world 
knew  Ilim  not,  He  came  unto  His  own,  and  His  own  re- 
ceived Him  not." 

And  yet,  though  the  consciousness  of  His  Divine  parent- 
age was  thus  clearly  present  in  His  mind — though  one  ray 
from  the  glory  of  His  hidden  majesty  hud  thus  unmistak- 
ably flashed  foi'th — in  all  dutiful  simplicity  and  holy  obedi- 
ence "  He  went  down  with  them,  and  came  to  Nazareth, 
and  was  subject  unto  them." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   HOME   AT   NAZAEETH. 

Such,  then,  is  the  "  solitary  floweret  out  of  the  wonder- 
ful enclosed  garden  of  the  thirty  years,  plucked  precisely 
there  where  the  swollen  bud,  at  a  distinctive  crisis,  bursts 
into  flower." 

But  if  of  the  first  twelve  years  of  His  human  life  we 
have  only  this  single  anecdote,  of  the  next  eighteen  years 
of  His  life  we  possess  no  record  whatever  save  such  as  is 
inijilied  in  a  single  word. 

The  word  occurs  in  Mark  vi.  3:  *'  Is  not  this  the  carpen- 
ter r 

We  may  be  indeed  thankful  that  the  word  remains,  for 
it  is  full  of  meaning,  and  has  exercised  a  very  noble 
and  blessed  influence  over  the  fortunes  of  mankind.  It 
has  tended  to  console  and  sanctify  the  estate  of  poverty; 
to  ennoble  the  duty  of  labor;  to  elevate  the  entire  concep- 
tion of  manhood,  as  of  a  condition  which  in  itself  alone, 
and  apart  from  every  adventitious  circumstance,  has  its 
own  grandeur  and  dignity  in  the  sight  of  God. 

1.  It  shows,  for  instance,  that  not  only  during  the  three 
years  of  His  ministry,  but  throughout  the  whole  of  His 


THE  HOME  AT  NAZARETH.  43 

life,  onr  Lord  was  poor.  In  the  cities  the  carpenters 
would  be  Greeks,  and  skilled  workmen  ;  the  carpenter  of 
a  provincial  village — and,  if  tradition  be  true,  Joseph  was 
*' not  very  skillful  " — can  only  have  held  a  very  hnnible 
position  and  secured  a  very  moderate  competence.  In  all 
ages  there  has  been  an  exaggerated  desire  for  wealth  ;  an 
exaggerated  admiration  for  those  who  possess  it;  an  exag- 
gerated belief  of  its  influence  in  producing  or  increasing 
the  hapjiiness  of  life  ;  and  from  these  errors  a  flood  of 
cares  and  jealousies  and  meannesses  have  devastated  the 
life  of  man.  And  therefore  Jesus  chose  voluntarily  "  the 
low  estate  of  the  poor" — not,  indeed,  an  absorbing,  de- 
grading, grinding  poverty,  which  is  always  rare,  and 
almost  always  remediable,  but  that  commonest  lot  of 
honest  poverty,  which,  though  it  necessitates  self-denial, 
can  provide  with  ease  for  all  the  necessaries  of  a  simple 
life.  The  Iduma^an  dynasty  that  had  usurped  the  throne 
of  David  might  indulge  in  the  gilded  vices  of  a  corrupt 
Hellenism,  and  display  the  gorgeous  gluttonies  of  a  decay- 
ing civilization;  but  lie  who  came  to  be  the  Friend  and 
the  Saviour,  no  less  than  the  King  of  All,  sanctioned  the 
purer,  better,  simpler  traditions  and  customs  of  His 
nation,  and  chose  the  condition  in  which  the  vast  majority 
of  mankind  have  ever,  and  must  ever  live, 

2,  Again,  there  has  ever  been,  in  the  unenlightened 
mind,  a  love  of  idleness;  a  tendency  to  regard  it  as  a  stamp 
of  aristocracy;  a  desire  to  delegate  labor  to  the  lower  and 
weaker,  and  to  brand  it  with  the  stigma  of  inferiority  and 
contempt.  But  our  Lord  wished  to  show  that  labor  is  a 
pure  and  a  noble  thing ;  it  is  the  salt  of  life  ;  it  is 
the  girdle  of  manliness;  it  saves  the  body  from  effeminate 
languor,  and  the  soul  from  polluting  thoughts.  And 
therefore  Christ  labored,  working  with  his  own  hands, 
and  fashioned  plows  and  yokes  for  those  who  needed 
them.  The  very  scoff  of  Celsus  against  the  possibility  that 
He  should  have  been  a  carpenter  who  came  to  save  the 
world,  shows  how  vastly  the  world  has  gained  fi'om  this 
very  circumstance — how  gracious  and  how  fitting  was  the 
example  of  such  humility  in  One  whose  work  it  was  to  re- 
generate society,  and  to  make  all  things  new, 

3,  Once  more,  from  this  long  silence,  from  this  deep 
obscurity,  from  this  monotonous  routine  of  an  unrecorded 


44  TlIK  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  iinovoiitful  life,  wo  were  meant  to  learn  that  our  real 
existence  in  the  sigjit  of  (Jod  consists  in  the  inner  and  not 
in  the  outer  life.  The  worhl  hardly  attaches  any  signifi- 
cance to  any  life  except  those  of  its  heroes  and  benefac- 
tors, its  mighty  intellects,  or  its  splendid  conquerors.  But 
these  are,  and  must  evor  be.  the  few.  One  rain-drop  of 
myriads  falling  on  moor  or  desert  or  mountain — one  snow- 
fiake  out  of  myriads  melting  into  the  immeasurable  sea — 
is,  and  must  be,  for  most  men  the  symbol  of  their  ordi- 
nary lives,  Tiiey  die,  and  barely  have  they  died,  when 
they  are  forgotten  ;  a  few  years  })ass,  nnd  the  creeping 
lichens  eat  away  the  letters  of  their  names  upon  the 
churoh-yai'd  stone  ;  l)ut  even  if  those  crumbling  letters 
were  still  decipherable,  they  would  recall  no  memory  to 
those  who  stand  upon  their  graves.  Even  common  and 
ordinary  men  are  very  apt  to  think  themselves  of  much 
importance;  but,  on  the  contrary,  not  even  the  greatest 
man  is  in  any  degree  necessary,  and  after  a  very  short  space 
of  time — 

"His  place,  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills 
The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills. 
Is  that  his  grave  is  green." 

4.  A  relative  insignificance,  then,  is,  and  must  be,  the 
destined  lot  of  the  immense  majority,  and  many  a  man 
might  hence  be  led  to  think,  that  since  he  fills  so  small  a 
space — since,  for  the  vast  masses  of  mankind,  he  is  of  as 
little  importance  as  the  ephemerid  which  buzzes  out  its 
little  hour  in  tlie  summer  noon — there  is  nothing  better 
than  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  die.  But  Christ  came  to  con- 
vince us  that  a  relative  insignificance  may  be  an  absohUe 
importance.  lie  came  to  teach  that  continual  excitement, 
prominent  action,  distinguished  services,  brilliant  suc- 
cess, are  no  essential  elements  of  true  and  noble 
life,  and  that  myriads  of  the  beloved  of  God  are  to  be 
found  among  the  insignificant  and  the  obscure.  "  tii  vis 
di villus  esse,  late  id  Deus,"  is  the  encouraging,  consoling, 
ennobling  lesson  of  those  voiceless  years.  The  calmest  and 
inost  unknown  lot  is  often  the  happiest,  and  we  may  safely 
infer  that  these  years  in  the  home  and  trade  of  thecarpeii- 
ter  of  Nazareth  were  happy  years  in  our  Saviour's  life. 
Often,  even  in  His  later  days,  "it  is  clear  that  His  words  are 


THE  homt:  a  T  NA  ZA  R  ETir  45 

the  words  of  one  who  rejoiced  in  spirit ;  tliey  are  words 
which  seem  to  flow  from  the  full  river  of  au  iibouiiding 
happiness.  But  what  must  that  happiness  liave  been  in 
those  earher  days,  before  the  storms  of  righteous  anger  had 
agitated  his  unrufiied  soul,  or  His  heart  burned  hot  with 
terrible  indignation  against  the  sins  and  hypocrisies  of 
men?  "Heaven,"  as  even  a  Confucius  could  tell  us, 
"  mecifis  principle  ;"  Siwd  \l 'dt  liW  times  innocence  be  the 
only  happiness,  how  great  must  have  been  the  happiness, 
of  a  sinless  childhood!  "  Youth,"'  says  the  poet-preacher, 
"  danceth  like  a  bubble,  nimble  and  gay,  and  shineth  like  a 
dove's  neck,  or  the  image  of  a  rainbow  which  hath  no  sub- 
stance, and  whose  very  image  and  colors  are  fantastical." 
And  if  this  description  be  true  of  even  a  careless  youth, 
with  whattranscendently  deeper  force  must  it  apply  to  the 
innocent,  the  sinless,  the  perfect  youth  of  Christ?  In  the 
case  of  many  myriads,  and  assui'edly  not  least  in  the  case 
of  the  saints  of  God,  a  sorrowful  and  stormy  manhood  has 
often  been  preceded  by  a  calm  and  rosy  dawn. 

5.  And  while  they  were  occupied  manually,  we  have 
positive  evidence  that  these  years  were  not  neglected  intel- 
lectually. No  importance  can  be  attached  to  the  clumsy 
stories  of  the  Apocryphal  Gospels,  but  it  is  possible  that 
some  religious  and  simple  instruction  may  have  been  given 
to  the  little  Nazareues  by  the  i<ophei-im,  or  other  attendants 
of  the  synagogue;  and  here  our  Lord,  who  was  made  like 
unto  us  in  all  things,  may  have  learnt,  as  other  children 
learut,  the  elements  of  human  learning.  But  it  is,  per- 
haps, more  probable  that  Jesus  received  His  early  teaching 
at  home,  and  in  accordance  with  the  injunctions  of  the 
Law  (Deut.  xi.  19),  from  His  father.  He  would,  at  any 
rate,  have  often  heard  in  the  daily  prayers  of  the  syna- 
gogue all  which  the  elders  of  the  place  could  teach  respect- 
ing the  Law  and  the  Prophets.  That  He  had  not  been  to 
Jerusalem  for  purposes  of  instruction,  and  had  not  fre- 
quented any  of  the  schools  of  the  Rabbis,  is  certain  from 
the  indignant  questions  of  jealous  enemies,  ''From  whence 
hath  this  man  these  things?"  "  How  knoweth  tliis  man 
letters,  having  never  learned?"  There  breathes  through- 
out these  questions,  the  Rabbinic  spirit  of  insolent  con- 
tempt for  the  am  ha-aretz  or  illiterate  countrymen.  The 
stereotyped  intelligence  of  the  nation,  accustomed,  if  I  may 


4r,  THE  TJFE  OF  CTTRTST. 

use  tlic  oxprossidii.  to  tli:it  imiinmiricd  fonn  of  a  dejul  re- 
liiiioii.  which  had  bwii  cmbalnieil  by  tlio  Oral  Law,  was 
iiu-apablo  of  appreciating  the  divine  originality  of  a  wisdom 
learnt  from  (lod  alone.  They  could  not  get  beyond  the 
sententious  error  of  the  son  of  Sirach,  that  "  the  wisdom 
of  the  learned  man  cometh  by  opportunity  of  leisure." 
Had  Jesus  received  tlie  slightest  tincture  of  their  technical 
training  he  would  have  been  less,  not  more,  effectually 
armed  for  putting  to  shame  the  supercilious  exclusiveness 
of  their  narrow  erudition. 

6.  And  this  testimony  of  His  enemies  furnishes  us  with 
a  convincing  and  fortunate  proof  that  His  teaching  was 
not,  as  some  would  insinuate,  a  mere  eclectic  system  bor- 
rowed from  the  various  sects  aiul  teachers  of  His  times.  It 
is  certain  that  He  was  never  enrolled  among  the  scholars 
of  those  Scribes  who  made  it  their  main  business  to  teach 
the  traditions  of  the  fathers.  Although  schools  in  great 
towns  had  been  founded  eighty  years  before,  by  Simon  Ben 
Shatach,  vet  there  could  have  been  no  Beth  Midrash  or 
Beth  Kabban,  no  "  vineyard"  or  "  array"  at  despised  and 
simple  Nazareth.  And  from  whom  could  Jesus  have  bor- 
rowed? From  Oriental  Gymnosophists  or  Greek  Philoso- 
phers? No  one,  in  these  days,  ventures  to  advance  so  wild 
a  proposition.  From  the  Pliarisees?  The  very  founda- 
tions of  their  system,  the  very  idea  of  their  religion,  was 
irreconcilably  alien  from  all  that  He  revealed.  From  the 
Sndducees?  Their  epicurean  insouciance,  their  ''expe- 
diency" politics,  their  shallow  rationalism,  their  polished 
sloth,  were  even  more  repugnant  to  true  Christianity  than 
they  were  to  sincere  Judaism.  From  the  Essenes  ?  They 
were  an  exclusive,  ascetic  and  isolated  community,  with 
whose  discouragement  of  marriage,  and  withdrawal  from 
action,  the  Gospels  have  no  sympathy,  and  to  whom  our 
Lord  never  alluded,  unless  it  be  in  those  passages  where 
He  repi'obates  those  who  abstain  from  anoiiiting  themselves 
when  they  fast,  and  who  hide  their  candle  under  a  bushel. 
From  Philo,  and  the  Alexandrian  Jews?  Philo  was  indeed" 
a  good  man,  and  a  great  thinker,  and  a  contemporary  of 
Christ;  but  (even  if  his  name  had  ever  been  heard — which 
is  exceedingly  doubtful — in  so  remote  a  region  as  Galilee) 
it  would  be  impossible,  among  the  world's  philosophies,  to 
choose   any  s)'stem   leps  like   the    doctrines   which   Jesus 


THE  HOME  A  T  XJ  ZARETH.  4? 

taught,  than  the  Tuystic  theosophy  and  allegorizing  extrav- 
agance of  that  "  sea  of  abstractions"'  which  lies  congealed 
in  his  writings.  From  Hillel  and  Shammai?  We  know 
but  little  of  them;  but  although,  in  one  or  two  passages 
of  the  Gospels,  there  may  be  a  conceivable  allusion 
to  the  disputes  which  agitated  their  schools,  or  to 
one  or  two  of  the  best  and  truest  maxims,  which  orig- 
inated in  them,  such  allusions,  on  the  one  hand 
involve  no  more  than  belongs  to  the  common  stock  of 
truth  taught  by  the  Spirit  of  God  to  men  in  every  age  ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  system  which  Shammai  and 
Hillel  taught  was  that  oral  tradition,  that  dull  dead  Levit- 
ical  ritualism,  at  once  arrogant  and  impotent,  at  once 
frivolous  and  unoriginal,  which  Jesus  both  denounced  and 
overthrew.  The  schools  in  which  Jesus  learned  were 
not  the  schools  of  the  Scribes,  but  the  school  of  holy  obedi- 
ence, of  sweet  contentment,  of  unalloyed  simplicity,  of 
stainless  purity,  of  cheerful  toil.  The  lore  in  which  He 
studied  was  not  the  lore  of  Eabbinism,  in  which  to  find 
one  just  or  noble  thought  we  must  wade  through  masses 
of  puerile  fancy  and  cabalistic  folly,  but  the  Books  of 
God  without  Him,  in  Sci'ipture,  in  Nature  and  in  Life; 
and  the  Book  of  God  within  Him,  written  on  the  fleshy 
tables  of  the  heart. 

The  education  of  a  Jewish  boy  of  the  humbler  classes 
was  almost  solely  scriptural  and  moral,  and  his  parents  were, 
as  a  rule,  his  sole  teachers.  We  can  h.'irdly  doubt  that  the 
child  Jesus  was  taught  by  Joseph  and  Mary  to  read  the 
Shema  (Deut.  vi,  4),  and  the  Hallel  (Ps.  cxiv. — cxviii.), 
and  the  simpler  parts  of  those  holy  books,  on  whose  pages 
His  divine  wisdom  was  hereafter  to  pour  such  floods  of 
light. 

But  He  had  evidently  received  a  further  culture  than 
this. 

(i.)  The  art  of  writing  is  by  no  means  commonly  known, 
even  in  these  days,  in  the  East ;  but  more  than  one  allu- 
sion to  the  form  of  the  Hebrew  letters,  no  less  than  the 
stooping  to  write  with  His  finger  on  the  ground,  show 
that  our  Lord  could  write,  (li.)  That  His  knowledge 
of  the  sacred  writings  was  deep  and  extensive — that,  in  fact. 
He  must  almost  have  known  them  by  heart — is  clear,  not 
only  from  His  direct  quotations,,  but  also  from  the  numer- 


.]^  Till-:  Llbl'l  OF  ciinlsT. 

oils  iiUiisioiis  which  lie  niade  to  the  Law,  and  to  the 
IIa{j;i()i,M-ai)lia,  as  well  as  to  Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  Daniel,  Joel, 
Hosoa,  Micah,  Zechariah,  Malachi,  and,  above  all,  to  the 
Book  of  rsaliiis.  It  is  probable,  thongh  not  certain, 
tliut  lie  was  acquainted  with  the  nncanonical  Jewish 
books.  This  profound  and  ready  knowledge  of  the 
Scriptures  gave  more  point  to  the  half  indignant  ques- 
tions, so  often  repeated,  ''Have  ye  not  read?"  (iii.)  The 
language  which  our  Lord  commonly  spoke  was  Aramaic; 
and  at  that  period  Hebrew  was  completely  a  dead  language, 
known  only  to  the  niore  educated,  and  only  to  be  acquired 
by  labor:  yet  it  is  clear  that  Jesus  was  acquainted  with  it, 
for  some  of  his  scriptural  quotations  directly  refer  to  the 
Hebrew  original.  Greek,  too,  He  must  have  known,  for 
it  was  currently  spoken  in  towns  so  near  His  home  as 
Sepphoris,  C;V!sarea  and  'I'iberias.  Meleager,  the  poet  of 
the  Greek  anthology,  in  his  epitaph  on  himself,  assumes 
that  his  Greek  will  be  intelligible  to  Syrians  and  Phoeni- 
cians :  he  also  speaks  of  his  native  Gadara,  which  was  at 
no  great  distance  from  Nazareth,  as  though  it  were  a  sort 
of  Syrian  Athens.  Ever  since  the  days  of  Alexander  the 
Great,  alike  in  the  contact  of  the  Jews  with  Ptolemies 
and  with  Seleucids,  Hellenic  influences  had  been  at  work 
in  Palestine.  Greek  was,  indeed,  the  common  medium  of 
intercourse,  and  without  it  Jesus  could  have  had  no  conver- 
sation with  strangers — with  the  centurion,  for  instance, 
whose  servant  He  healed,  or  with  Pilate,  or  with  the  Greeks 
who  desired  an  interview  with  Him  in  the  last  week  of 
His  life.  Some,  too,  of  His  sci'iptural  quotations,  if  we 
can  venture  to  assume  a  reproduction  of  the  ijjsi^sima 
verba,  are  taken  directly  from  the  Greek  version  of  the 
Septuagint,  even  where  it  differs  from  the  Hebrew  original. 
AVliether  He  was  acquainted  with  Latin  is  much  more 
doubtful,  though  not  impossible.  The  Romans  in  Jud,9ea 
must  by  this  time  have  been  very  inimerons,  and  Latin 
was  inscribed  upon  the  coins  in  ordinary  use.  But  to 
whatever  extent  He  may  have  known  these  languages,  it  is 
clear  that  they  exercised  little  or  no  influence  on  His 
liuman  development,  nor  is  there  in  all  His  teaching  a 
single  indisputable  allusion  to  the  literature,  philosophy, 
or  history  of  Greece  or  Home.  And  that  Jesus  habitually 
thouylit  in  that  Syriac  which  was  His  native  toiigue  may 


THE  no  ME  A  T  .V.  1 ZA  U  ETH.  40 

be  conjectured,  without  improbability,  from  some  curious 
plays  on  words  which  are  lost  in  the  Greek  of  the  Gospels, 
but  which  would  have  given  greater  point  and  beauty  to 
some  of  His  utterances,  as  spoken  in  their  original  tongue. 

7.  But  whatever  the  boy  Jesus  may  have  learned  as  child 
or  boy  in  the  house  of  His  mother,  or  in  the  school  of  the 
synagogue,  we  know  that  His  best  teaching  was  derived 
from  immediate  insight  into  His  Father's  will.  In  the 
depths  of  His  inmost  consciousness  did  that  voice  of  God, 
which  spake  to  the  father  of  our  race  as  he  walked  in  the 
cool  evening  under  the  palms  of  Paradise,  commune — 
more  plainly,  by  far — with  Him.  He  heard  it  in  every 
sound  of  nature,  in  every  occupation  of  life,  in  every  inter- 
space of  solitary  thought.  His  human  life  was  "  an  ephod 
on  which  was  inscribed  the  one  word  God.''  Written  on  His 
inmost  spirit,  written  on  His  most  trivial  experiences, 
written  in  sunbeams,  written  in  the  light  of  stars.  He  read 
everywhere  His  Father's  name.  The  calm,  untroubled 
seclusion  of  the  happy  valley,  with  its  green  fields  and 
glorious  scenery,  was  eminently  conducive  to  a  life  of 
spiritual  communion  ;  and  we  know  how  from  its  every 
incident — the  games  of  its  innocent  children,  the  buying 
and  selling  in  its  little  market-place,  the  springing  of  its 
perennial  fountain,  the  glory  of  its  mountain  lilies  in 
their  transitory  loveliness,  the  hoarse  cry  in  their  wind- 
rocked  nest  of  the  raven's  callow  brood — he  drew  food  for 
moral  illustration  and  spiritual  thouglit. 

Nor  must  we  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  it  was  in  these 
silent,  unrecorded  years  that  a  great  part  of  His  work  was 
doue.  He  was  not  only  "girding  His  sword  upon  His 
thigh,"  but  also  wielding  it  in  that  warfare  which  has  no 
discharge.  That  noiseless  battle,  in  which  no  clash  of 
weapons  sounds,  but  in  which  the  combatants  against  us 
are  none  the  less  terrible  because  they  are  not  seen,  went 
on  through  all  the  years  of  His  redeeming  obedience.  In 
these  years  He  *'  began  to  do  "  long  before  He  "  began  to 
teach."  They  were  the  years  of  a  sinless  childhood,  a  sin- 
less boyhood,  a  sinless  youth,  a  sinless  manhood,  spent  in 
that  humility,  toil,  obscurity,  submission,  contentment, 
prayer,  to  make  them  an  eternal  example  to  all  our  race. 
We  cannot  imitate  Him  in  the  occupations  of  His  minis- 
try, nor  can  we  even   remotrely  reproduce   in  our  own  ex- 


50  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

perience  the  external  circumstances  of  His  life  during 
those  tliree  crowning  years.  Jiut  the  vast  majority  of  ns 
are  phieed,  hy  God's  own  appointment,  amid  those  quiet 
duties  of  a  commonplace  and  uneventful  routine  which 
are  most  closely  analogous  to  the  thirty  years  of  His  retire- 
ment; it  was  during  these  years  that  His  life  is  for  us  the 
main  example  of  how  we  ought  to  live.  ''  Take  notice 
here,"  says  the  saintly  Bonaventura,  "that  His  doing 
notliing  wonderful  was  in  itself  a  kind  of  wonder.  For 
His  wiiole  life  is  a  mystery;  and  as  there  was  power  in  His 
actions,  so  was  there  power  in  His  silence,  in  His  inactiv- 
ity, and  in  His  retirement.  This  sovereign  Master,  who 
was  to  teach  all  virtues,  and  to  point  out  the  way  of  life, 
began,  from  His  youth  up,  by  sanctifying  in  His  own 
person  the  practice  of  the  virtuous  life  He  came  to  teach, 
but  in  a  wondrous,,  unfatliomable  and,  till  tlien,  unheard- 
of  manner." 

His  mere  presence  in  that  home  of  His  childhood  must 
have  made  it  a  happy  one.  The  hour  of  strife,  the  hour 
of  the  sword,  the  hour  wlieii  many  in  Israel  should  rise  or 
fall  because  of  Him,  the  hour  when  tlie  thouglits  of  many 
hearts  should  be  revealed,  the  hour  when  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  should  suffer  violence,  and  the  violent  take  it  by 
force,  was  not  yet  come.  In  any  family  circle  the  gentle 
influence  of  one  loving  soul  is  sufficient  to  breathe  around 
it  an  unspeakable  calm  ;  it  has  a  soothing  power  like  the 
shining  of  the  sunlight,  or  the  voice  of  doves  heard  at 
evening — 

"  It  droppetli  like  tlie  gentle  dew  from  heaven, 
Upon  the  place  beneatb." 

Nothing  vulgar,  nothing  tyrannous,  nothing  restless  can 
permanently  resist  its  beneficent  sorcery  ;  no  jangling  dis- 
cord can  long  break  in  upon  its  harmonizing  spell.  But 
the  home  of  Jesus  was  no  ordinary  home.  With  Joseph 
to  guide  and  support,  with  Mary  to  hallow  and  sweeten  it, 
with  the  youthful  Jesus  to  illuminate  it  with  the  very 
light  of  heaven,  we  may  well  believe  that  it  was  a  home  of 
trustful  piety,  of  angelic  purity,  of  almost  perfect  peace;  a 
home  for  the  sake  of  which  all  the  earth  would  be  dearer 
and  more  awful  to  the  watchers  and  holy  ones,  and  where, 
if  the  fancy  be  permitted  us,  they  would  love  to  stay  their 


THE  HOME  A  T  NA  ZAUETH.  51 

waving  wings.  The  legends  of  early  Christianity  tell  us 
that  night  and  day,  wliere  Jesus  moved  and  Jesus  slept, 
the  cloud  of  light  shone  round  about  Him.  And  so  it  was; 
but  tliat  light  was  no  visible  Sliechiuah;  it  was  the  beauty 
of  holiness;  it  was  the  peace  of  God. 

8.  In  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the  Apocryphal  History  of 
Joseph  the  Carpenter,  it  is  stated  that  Joseph  had  four 
elder  sons  and  several  danghtei's  by  a  previous  marriage, 
and  tliat  the  elder  sous,  Justus  and  Simon,  and  the  daugh- 
ters Esther  and  Thamar,  in  due  time  married  and  went  to 
their  houses.  "  But  Judas  and  James  the  Less,  and  the 
Virgin,  my  mother,"  continues  the  speaker,  who  is  sup- 
posed to  be  Jesus  Himself,  "  remained  in  the  house  of 
Joseph.  I  also  continued  along  with  them,  not  otherwise 
than  if  I  had  been  one  of  his  sons.  I  passed  all  my  time 
without  fault.  I  called  Mary  my  mother,  and  Joseph 
father,  and  in  all  they  said  I  was  obedient  to  them,  nor  did 
I  ever  resist  them,  but  submitted  to  them  .  .  .  nor 
did  I  provoke  their  anger  any  day,  nor  return  any  harsh 
word  or  answer  to  them;  on  the  contrary,  I  cherished  them 
with  immense  love,  as  the  apple  of  my  eye." 

This  passage,  which  I  quote  for  the  sake  of  the  picture 
which  it  offers  of  the  unity  which  prevailed  in  the  home 
at  Nazareth,  reminds  us  of  the  perplexed  question.  Had 
our  Lord  any  actual  uterine  brothers  and  sisters  ?  and  if 
not,  who  were  those  who  in  the  Gospels  are  so  often 
called  "  the  brethren  of  the  Lord  ?"  Whole  volumes  have 
been  written  on  this  controversy,  and  I  shall  not  largely 
enter  on  it  here.  The  evidence  is  so  evenly  balanced,  the 
difhculties  of  each  opinion  are  so  clear,  that  to  insist  very 
dogmatically  on  any  positive  solution  of  the  problem 
would  be  uncandid  and  contentions.  Some,  in  accordance 
certainly  with  the  ^jr/?«a  facie  evidence  of  the  Gospels, 
have  accepted  the  natural  supposition  that,  after  the 
miraculous  conception  of  our  Lord,  Joseph  and  Mary  lived 
together  in  the  married  state,  and  that  James,  and  Joses, 
and  Judas,  and  Simon,  with  daughters,  whose  names  are 
not  recorded,  were  subsequently  born  to  them.  Accord- 
ing to  this  view,  Jesus  would  be  the  eldest,  and  on  the 
death  of  Joseph,  which,  if  we  may  follow  tradition,  took 
place  when  He  was  nineteen,  would  assume  the  natural 
headship  and  support  of  the  orphaned    family.     But  ac- 


53  THE  LIFK  OF  ClIUmT. 

cording  to  aiioUior  view,  of  vvhicli  St.  Jerome  may  be  called 
llie  inventor,  these  brethren  of  our  Lord  were  in  reality 
His  cousins.  ^lary,  it  is  believed,  had  a  sister  or  lialf- 
sister  of  the  same  name,  who  was  married  to  Alplueus  or 
Clophas,  and  these  were  their  children.  Each  person  can 
form  upon  that  evidence  a  decided  conviction  of  his  own, 
but  it  is  too  scanty  to  admit  of  any  positive  conclusion  in 
which  we  may  expect  a  general  acquiescence.  In  any  case, 
it  is  clear  that  our  Lord,  from  His  earliest  infancy,  must 
liave  been  thrown  into  close  connection  with  several  kins- 
men, or  brothers,  a  little  older  or  a  little  younger  than 
Himself,  who  were  men  of  marked  individuality,  of  burn- 
ing zeal,  of  a  simplicity  almost  bordering  on  Essenic 
ascetism,  of  overpowering  hostility  to  every  form  of  cor- 
ruption, disorder,  or  impurity,  of  strong  devotion  to  the 
Messianic  hopes,  and  even  to  the  ritual  observances  of  their 
country.  AV'e  know  that,  though  afterward  they  became 
pillars  of  the  infant  Church,  at  first  they  did  not  believe 
in  our  Lord's  Divinity,  or  at  any  rate  held  views  which 
ran  strongly  counter  to  the  divine  plan  of  His  self-manifes- 
tation. Not  among  these,  in  any  case,  did  Jesus  during 
His  lifetime  find  His  most  faithful  followers,  or  His  most 
beloved  companions.  There  seemed  to  be  in  them  a 
certain  strong  opinionativeness,  a  Judaic  obstinacy,  a  lack 
of  sympathy,  a  deficiency  in  the  elements  of  tenderness 
and  reverence.  Peter,  affectionate  even  in  his  worst 
weakness,  generous  even  in  his  least  controlled  impulse  ; 
James,  the  son  of  Zebedee,  calm  and  watchful,  reticent 
and  true;  above  all,  John,  whose  impetuosity  lay  involved 
in  a  soul  of  the  most  heavenly  tenderness,  as  the  light- 
ning slumbers  in  the  dewdrop — these  were  more  to  Him 
aiul  dearer  than  His  brethren  or  kinsman  according  to  the 
flesh.  A  hard  aggressive  morality  is  less  beautiful  than  an 
absorbing  and  adoring  love. 

9.  Whether  these  little  clouds  of  partial  miscomprehen- 
sion tended  in  any  way  to  overshadow  the  clear  heaven  of 
Ciirist's  youth  in  the  little  Galilean  town,  we  cannot  tell. 
It  may  be  that  these  brethren  toiled  with  Him  at  the  same 
Immble  trade,  lived  with  Him  under  the  same  humble 
roof.  But,  however  this  may  be,  we  are  sure  that  He 
■would  often  be  alone.  Solitude  would  be  to  Him,  more 
emphatically  than  to  any  child  of  man,   "the  audience- 


2HE  HOME  A  T  NAZARETH.  53 

chamber  of  God  ;"  He  would  beyond  all  doubt  seek  for  it 
on  the  gray  hill-sides,  under  the  iigs  and  olive  trees,  amid 
the  quiet  fields;  during  the  heat  of  noonday,  and  under 
the  stars  of  night.  No  soul  can  preserve  the  bloom  and 
delicacy  of  its  existence  without  lonely  musing  and  silent 
prayer:  and  the  greatness  of  this  necessity  is  in  proportion 
to  the  greatness  of  the  soul.  There  were  many  times 
during  our  Lord's  ministry  when,  even  from  the  loneliness 
of  desert  places,  He  dismissed  His  most  faithful  and  most 
beloved,  that  He  might  be  yet  more  alone. 

10.  It  has  been  implied  that  there  are  but  two  spots  in 
Palestine  where  we  may  feel  an  absolute  moral  certainty 
that  the  feet  of  Christ  have  trod,  namely — the  well-side  at 
Shechem,  and  the  turning  of  that  road  from  Bethany  over 
the  Mount  of  Olives  from  which  Jerusalem  first  bursts 
upon  the  view.  But  to  these  I  would  add  at  least  an- 
other— the  summit  of  the  hill  on  which  Nazareth  is  built. 
That  summit  is  now  unhappily  marked,  not  by  any  Chris- 
tian monument,  but  by  tlie  wretched,  ruinous,  crumbling 
wely  of  some  obscure  Mohammedan  saint.  Certainly  there 
is  no  child  of  ten  years  old  in  Nazareth  now,  however 
dull  and  unitnpressionable  he  may  be,  who  has  not  often 
wandered  up  to  it;  and  certainly  there  could  have  been  no 
boy  at  Nazareth  in  olden  days  who  had  not  followed  the 
common  instinct  of  humanity  by  climbing  up  those  thymy 
hill  slopes  to  tlie  lovely  and  easily  accessible  spot  which 
gives  a  view  of  the  world  beyond.  The  hill  rises  six 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Four  or  five 
hundred  feet  below  lies  the  happy  valley.  The  view  froni 
this  spot  would  in  any  country  be  regarded  as  extraordi- 
narily ricii  and  lovely;  but  it  receives  a  yet  more  indescrib- 
able charm  from  our  belief  that  here,  with  His  feet 
among  the  mountain  flowers,  and  the  soft  breeze  lifting 
the  hair  from  His  temples,  Jesus  must  often  have  watched 
the  eagles  poised  in  the  cloudless  blue,  and  have  gazed 
upward  as  He  heard  overhead  the  rushing  plumes  of  the 
long  line  of  pelicans,  as  they  winged  their  way  from  the 
streams  of  Kishon  to  the  Lake  of  Galilee.  And  what  a 
vision  would  be  outspread  before  Him,  as  He  sat  at  spring- 
time on  the  green  and  thyme-besprinkled  turf  !  To  Him 
every  field  and  fig-tree,  every  palm  and  garden,  every 
Ijouse  and  synagogue,  would  have  been  a  familiar  object ; 


54  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  most  fondly  of  all  among  the  square  flat-roofed  houses 
would  His  eye  single  out  the  little  dwelling  place  of  the 
village  carpenter.  To  the  north,  just  beneath  thetn,  lay 
the  narrow  and  fertile  plain  of  Asoohis,  from  which  rise  the 
wood  crowned  hills  of  Xaphtali,  and  coiis])icuous  on  one 
of  them  was  Safed,  ''the  city  set  upon  a  hill;"  beyond 
these,  on  the  far  horizon,  Ilermon  upheaved  into  the  blue 
the  huge  splendid  mass  of  his  colossal  shoulder,  white 
with  eternal  snows.  Eastward,  at  a  few  miles'  distance, 
rose  the  green  and  rouiuled  summit  of  Tabor,  clothed  with 
terebinth  and  oak.  To  the  west  He  would  gaze  through 
that  dia[)hanous  air  on  the  pur[)le  ridge  of  Carniel,  among 
whose  forests  Elijah  had  found  a  home;  and  on  Caifa  and 
Acchu,  and  the  dazzling  line  of  white  sand  which  fringes 
the  waves  of  the  Mediterranean,  dotted  here  and  there 
with  the  white  sails  of  the  "  ships  of  Chittim."  South- 
ward, broken  only  by  the  graceful  outlines  of  Little 
Hermon  and  Grilboa,  lay  the  entire  plain  of  Esdraelon,  so 
memorable  in  the  history  of  Palestine  and  of  the  world  ; 
across  which  lay  the  southward  path  to  that  city  which 
had  ever  been  the  murderess  of  the  prophets,  and  where  it 
may  be  that  even  now,  in  the  dim  foreshadowing  of 
prophetic  vision.  He  foresaw  the  agony  in  the  garden,  the 
mockings  and  scourgings,  the  cross  and  the  crown  of 
thorns. 

The  scene  which  lay  there  outspread  before  the  eyes  of 
the  youthful  Jesus  was  indeed  a  central  spot  in  the  world 
which  He  came  to  save.  It  was  in  the  heart  of  the  Land 
of  Israel,  and  yet — separated  from  it  only  by  a  narrow 
boundary  of  hills  and  streams — Phojnicia,  Syria,  Arabia, 
Babylonia  and  Egypt  lay  close  at  hand.  The  Isles  of  the 
Gentiles,  and  all  the  glorious  regions  of  Europe,  were 
almost  visible  over  the  shining  waters  of  that  Western 
sea.  The  standards  of  Rome  were  planted  on  the  plain 
before  Him  ;  the  language  of  Greece  was  spoken  in  the 
towns  below.  And  however  peaceful  it  then  might  look, 
green  as  a  pavement  of  emeralds,  rich  with  its  gleams  of 
vivid  sunlight,  and  the  purpling  shadows  which  floated 
over  it  from  the  clouds  of  the  later  rain,  it  had  been  for 
centuries  a  battle-field  of  nations.  Pharaohs  and  Ptolemies, 
Emirs  aad  Arsacids,  Judges  and  Consuls,  had  all  con- 
teniU'd    for    the    mastery  of  that   smiling    tract,     It  had 


TEE  BAPTISM  OF  JOHN.  55 

glittered  with  the  lances  of  the  Amalekites  ;  it  had 
trembled  under  the  chariot-wheels  of  Sesostris ;  it  had 
echoed  the  twanging  bow-strings  of  Sennaclierib  ;  it  had 
been  trodden  by  the  phalanxes  of  Macedonia  ;  it  had 
clashed  with  the  broadswords  of  Eome  ;  it  was  destined 
hereafter  to  ring  with  the  battle-cry  of  tiie  Crusaders,  and 
thunder  with  tlie  artillery  of  England  and  of  France.  In 
that  Plain  of  Jezreel,  Europe  and  Asia,  Judaism  and 
Heathenism,  Barbarism  and  Civilization,  the  Old  and  tiie 
New  Covenant,  the  history  of  the  past  and  the  hopes  of 
the  present,  seemed  all  to  meet.  No  scene  of  deeper 
significance  for  the  destinies  of  humanity  could  possibly 
have  arrested  the  youthful  Saviour's  gaze. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE     BAPTISM     OF    JOHN". 

Thus  then  His  boyhood,  and  youth,  and  early  manhood 
had  passed  away  in  humble  submission  and  holy  silence, 
and  Jesus  was  now  thirty  years  old.  That  deep  lesson  for 
all  classes  of  men  in  every  age,  which  was  involved  in  the 
long  toil  and  obscurity  of  those  thirty  years,  had  been 
taught  more  powerfully  than  mere  words  could  teach  it, 
and  the  hour  for  His  ministry  and  for  the  great  work  of 
His  redemption  had  now  arrived.  He  was  to  be  the 
Saviour  not  only  by  example,  but  also  by  revelation,  and 
by  death. 

And  already  there  had  begun  to  ring  that  Voice  in  the 
Wilderness  which  was  stirring  the  inmost  heart  of  the 
nation  with  its  cry,  "  Eepent  ye,  for  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  is  at  hand." 

It  was  an  age  of  transition,  of  uncertainty,  of  doubt. 
In  the  growth  of  general  corruption,  in  the  wreck  of 
sacred  institutions,  in  those  dense  clouds  which  were 
gathering  more  and  more  darkly  on  the  political  horizon, 
it  must  have  seemed  to  many  a  pious  Jew  as  if  the  fount-- 
ains  of  the  great  deep  were  again  being  broken  up. 
Already  the  scepter  had  departed  from  his  race  ;  already 
its  high-priesthood  was  contemptuously  tampered  with  by 
Idumaean   tetrarchs   or   Roman    procurators;  already  the 


5  6  THE  L IFK  0  F  Villi  1ST. 

chief  innneiieo  over  liis  (le(?r;uleil  Sanliodrin  was  in  the 
ham];!  of  sii]>pk'  II(MO(lians  or  wily  tSadduceos.  It  seemed 
as  if  nothing  were  Ud't  for  his  consohition  but  an  increased 
tidelity  to  ^Mosaic  institutions,  and  a  deepening  intensity 
of  Messianic  hopes.  At  an  epocli  so  troubled,  and  so 
restless — when  old  things  were  rapidly  passing  away,  and 
the  new  continued  unrevealcd — it  might  almost  seem  ex- 
cusable for  a  Pharisee  to  watch  for  every  opportunity  of 
revolution  ;  and  still  more  excusable  for  an  Essene  to  em- 
brace a  life  of  celibacy,  and  retire  from  the  society  of  man. 
There  was  a  general  expectation  of  that  "  wrath  to  come." 
which  was  to  be  the  birth-throe  of  tlie  coming  kingdom — 
the  darkness  deepest  before  the  dawn.  The  world  had 
grown  old,  and  the  dotage  of  its  paganism  was  marked  by 
hideous  excesses.  Atheism  in  belief  was  followed,  as 
among  nations  it  has  always  been,  by  degradation  of  morals. 
Iniquity  seemed  to  have  run  its  course  to  the  very 
furthest  goal.  Philosophy  had  abrogated  its  boasted  func- 
tions exce[)t  foi-  the  favored  few.  Crime  was  universal, 
and  there  was  no  known  remedy  for  the  horror  and  ruin 
which  it  was  causing  in  a  thousand  hearts.  liemoi'se 
itself  seemed  to  be  exhausted,  so  that  men  were  "  past  feel- 
ing." There  was  a  callosity  of  heart,  a  petrifying  of  the 
moral  sense,  which  even  those  who  suffered  from  it  felt  to 
l)e  abnormal  and  potentous.  Even  the  heathen  world  felt 
that  '*  the  fullness  of  the  time  ''  had  come. 

At  such  periods  the  impulse  to  an  ascetic  seclusion  be- 
comes very  strong.  Solitary  communion  with  God  amid 
the  wildest  scenes  of  nature  seems  i)ieferable  to  the  harass- 
ing speculations  of  a  dispirited  society.  Self-dependence, 
and  subsistence  upon  tlie  very  scantiest  resouices  which 
can  supply  the  merest  necessities  of  life,  are  more  attrac- 
tive than  tlie  fretting  anxieties  and  corroding  misery  of  a 
crushed  and  struggling  poverty.  The  wildnessand  silence 
of  iiulifferent  Nature  appear  at  such  times  to  offer  a  de- 
lightful refuge  from  the  noise,  the  meanness,  and  the 
malignity  of  men.  Banus,  the  Pharisee,  who  retired  into 
the  wilderness,  and  lived  much  as  the  hermits  of  the  The- 
baid  lived  in  after  years,  was  only  one  of  many  who  were 
actuated  by  these  convictions,  josephus,  who  for  three 
years  had  lived  witli  him  in  liis  mountain-caves,  describes 
liis  stern  self-mortitications  and  hardy  life,  his  clothing  of 


THE  BAPTISM  OF  JOHN.  57 

woven  leaves,  his  food  of  the  chance  roots  which  he  could 
gather  from  the  soil,  and  his  daily  and  nightly  plunge  in 
the  cold  water,  that  his  body  might  be  clean  and  his  heart 
pure. 

But  asceticism  may  spring  from  very  different  motives. 
It  may  result  from  the  arrogance  of  the  cynic  who  wishes 
to  stand  apart  from  all  men;  or  from  the  disgusted  satiety 
of  the  epicurean  who  would  fain  find  a  refuge  even  from 
himself;  or  from  the  selfish  terror  of  the  faiiatic,  intent 
only  on  his  own  salvation.  Fur  different  and  far  nobler 
was  the  hard  simplicity  and  noble  self-denial  of  the  Bap- 
tist. It  is  by  no  idle  fancy  that  the  mediasval  painters 
represent  him  as  emaciated  by  a  proleptic  asceticism.  The 
tendency  to  the  life  of  a  recluse  had  shown  itself  in  the 
youthful  Nazarite  from  his  earliest  years  ;  but  in  him  it  re- 
sulted from  the  consciousness  of  a  glorious  mission — it  was 
from  the  desire  to  fulfill  a  destiny  inspired  by  burning 
hopes.  St.  John  was  a  dweller  in  the  wilderness,  only 
that  he  might  thereby  become  tiie  prophet  of  the  Highest. 
The  light  which  was  within  him  should  be  kindled,  if  need 
be,  into  a  self-consuming  flame,  not  for  his  own  glory,  but 
that  it  might  illuminate  the  pathway  of  the  coming  King. 

The  nature  of  St.  John  the  Baptise  was  full  of  impetu- 
osity and  fire.  The  long  struggle  which  had  given  him  so 
powerful  a  mastery  over  himself — which  had  made  him 
content  with  self-obliteration  before  the  presence  of  his 
Lord — which  had  inspired  him  with  tearfulness  in  the  face 
of  danger,  and  humility  in  the  midst  of  applause — had  left 
its  traces  in  the  stern  character,  and  aspect,  and  teaching 
of  the  man.  If  he  had  won  peace  in  the  long  prayer  and 
penitence  of  his  life  in  the  wilderness,  it  was  not  the 
spontaneous  peace  of  a  placid  and  holy  soul.  The  victory 
he  had  won  was  still  encumbered  with  traces  of  the  battle  ; 
the  calm  he  had  attained  still  echoed  with  the  distant  n)ut- 
ter  of  the  storm.  His  very  teaching  reflected  the  imagery 
of  the  wilderness — the  rock;,  the  serpent,  the  barren  tree. 
"In  his  manifestation  and  agency,"  it  has  been  said,  *' he 
was  like  a  burning  torch  ;  his  public  life  was  quite  an 
earthquake — the  whole  man  was  a  sermon  ;  he  might  well 
call  himself  a  voice — the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilder- 
ness, Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Ijord." 

While  lie  was  musing  the  fire  burned,  and  at  the  last 


58  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

he  spake  witli  his  tongue.  Almost  from  boyhood  he  had 
been  a  voluntary  eremite.  In  solitude  he  had  learnt 
things  unspeakable  ;  there  the  unseen  world  had  become 
to  him  a  reality;  there  his  spirit  had  caught  "a  touch  of 
phantasy  and  flame."  Communing  with  his  own  great 
lonely  heart — communing  with  the  high  thoughts  of  that 
long  line  of  prophets,  his  predecessors,  to  a  rebellious  peo- 
ple— communing  with  the  utterances  that  came  to  him 
from  the  voices  of  the  mountain  and  the  sea — he  had  learnt 
a  deeper  lore  than  he  could  have  ever  learnt  at  Hillel's  or 
tShammai's  feet.  In  the  tropic  noonday  of  that  deep 
Jordan  valley,  where  the  air  seems  to  be  full  of  a  subtle 
and  quivering  flame — in  listening  to  the  howl  of  the  wild 
beasts  in  the  long  night,  under  the  luster  of  stars  ''that 
seemed  to  hang  Hke  balls  of  fire  in  a  purple  sky" — in 
wandering  by  the  sluggish  cobalt-colored  waters  of  that 
dead  and  accursed  lake,  until  before  his  eyes,  dazzled  by 
the  saline  efflorescence  of  the  shore  strewn  with  its  wrecks 
of  death,  the  ghosts  of  the  guilty  seemed  to  start  out  of 
the  sulphurous  ashes  under  which  they  were  submerged — 
he  had  learnt  a  language,  he  had  received  a  revelation,  not 
vouchsafed  to  ordiiuiry  men — attained,  not  in  the  schools 
of  the  Eabbis,  but  in  the  school  of  solitude,  in  the  school 
of  God. 

Such  teachers  are  suited  for  such  times.  There  was 
enough  and  to  spare  of  those  respectable,  conventional 
teachers,  who  spake  smooth  things  and  prophesied  deceits. 
The  ordinary  Scribe  or  Pharisee,  sleek  with  good  living 
and  supercilious  with  general  respect,  might  get  up  in  the 
synagogue,  with  his  broad  phylacteries  and  luxurious  robes, 
and  miglit,  perhaps,  minister  to  some  sleepy  edification 
with  his  midrasli  of  hair-splitting  puerilities  and  thread- 
bare precedents;  but  the  very  aspect  of  John  the  Baptist 
would  have  shown  that  there  vvas  another  style  of  teacher 
here.  Even  before  the  first  vibrating  tone  of  a  voice  that 
rang  with  scorn  and  indignation,  the  bronzed  counte- 
nance, the  unshorn  locks,  the  close  pressed  lips,  the  leathern 
girdle,  the  mantle  of  camel's  hair,  would  at  once  betoken 
that  here  at  last  was  a  man  who  was  a  man  indeed  in  all  his 
natural  grandeur  and  dauntless  force,  and  who,  like  the 
rough  Bedawy  prophet  who  was  his  antitype,  would  stand 
unquailing  before  purple  Ahabs  and  adulterous  Jezebels. 


THE  BAPTISM  OF  JOHN.  59 

And  then  his  life  was  known.  It  was  known  that  his  drink 
was  water  of  the  river,  and  that  lie  lived  on  locusts  and  wild 
honey.  Men  felt  in  him  that  power  of  mastery  which  is 
always  granted  to  perfect  self-denial.  He  who  is  superior 
to  the  common  ambitions  of  man  is  superior  also  to  their 
common  timidities.  If  he  have  little  to  hope  from  the 
favor  of  his  fellows  he  has  little  to  fear  from  their  dislike  ; 
with  nothing  to  gain  from  the  administration  of  servile 
flattery,  he  has  nothing  to  lose  by  the  expression  of  just 
rebuke.  He  sits  as  it  were  above  his  brethren,  on  a  sunlit 
eminence  of  peace  and  purity,  unblinded  by  the  petty  mists 
that  dim  their  vision,  untroubled  by  the  petty  influences 
that  disturb  their  life. 

No  wonder  that  such  a  man  at  once  made  himself  felt  as 
a  power  in  the  midst  of  his  people.  It  became  widely 
rumored  that,  in  the  wilderness  of  Judaea,  lived  one  whose 
burning  words  it  was  worth  while  to  hear  ;  one  who  re- 
called Isaiah  by  his  expressions,  Elijah  by  his  life.  A 
Tiberius  was  polluting  by  his  infamies  the  throne  of  the 
Empire  ;  a  Pontius  Pilate,  with  his  insolences,  cruelties, 
extortions,  massacres,  was  maddening  a  fanatic  people; 
Herod  Antipas  was  exhibiting  to  facile  learners  the  ex- 
ample of  calculated  apostacy  and  reckless  lust ;  Caiaphas 
and  Annas  were  dividing  the  functions  of  a  priesthood 
which  they  disgraced.  Yet  the  talk  of  the  new  Prophet 
was  not  of  political  circumstances  such  as  these:  the  lessons 
he  had  to  teach  were  deeper  and  more  universal  in  their 
moral  and  social  significance.  AVhatever  might  be  the 
class  who  flocked  to  his  stern  solitude,  his  teaching  was 
intensely  practical,  painfully  heart-searching,  fearlessly 
downright.  And  so  Pharisee  and  Sadducee,  scribe  and 
soldier,  priest  and  publican,  all  thronged  to  listen  to  his 
words.  The  place  Avhere  he  preached  was  that  wild  range 
of  uncultivated  and  untenanted  wilderness,  which  stretches 
southward  from  Jericho  and  the  fords  of  Jordan  to  the 
shores  of  the  Dead  Sea.  The  cliffs  that  overhung  the 
narrow  defile  which  led  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho  were 
the  haunt  of  dangerous  robbers  ;  the  wild  beasts  and  the 
crocodiles  were  not  yet  extinct  in  the  reed-beds  that 
marked  the  swellings  of  Jordan;  yet  from  every  quarter  of 
the  country — from  priestly  Hebron,  from  holy  Jerusalem, 
from  smiling  Galilee — they  came  streaming  forth,  to  catch 


60  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  accents  of  this  strange  voice.  And  the  words  of  that 
voice  wore  like  a  liannner  to  dash  in  pieces  the  flintiest 
lieart,  like  aflame  to  pierce  into  tlie  most  hidden  thoughts. 
AVitlioiit  a  siuuhnv  of  enpliemism,  without  an  accent  of 
subservience,  without  a  tremor  of  hesitation,  lie  rebuked 
the  tax-gatherers  for  tiieir  extortionateness  ;  the  soldiers 
for  their  violence,  unfairness  and  discontent  :  the  wealthy 
Sadducees,  and  stately  Pliarisees,  for  a  formalism  and 
falsity  which  made  them  vipers  of  a  vi])erous  brood.  The 
whole  people  he  warned  that  their  cherished  privileges 
were  worse  than  valueless  if,  without  repentance,  they  re- 
garded them  as  a  protection  against  the  wrath  to  come. 
Tliey  prided  themselves  upon  their  high  descent;  but  God, 
as  lie  had  created  Adam  out  of  the  earth,  so  even  out  of 
those  flints  upon  the  strand  of  Jordan  was  able  to  rise  up 
children  unto  Abraham.  They  listened  with  accusing 
consciences  and  stricken  hearts;  and  since  he  had  chosen 
"baptism  as  his  symbol  of  their  penitence  and  purification, 
"  they  were  baptised  of  him  in  Jordan,  confessing  their 
sins."  Even  those  who  did  not  submit  to  his  baptism  were 
yet  "  willing  for  a  season  to  rejoice  in  his  light." 

But  he  had  another  and  stiaiiger  message — a  message 
sterner,  yet  more  hopeful — to  deliver;  forliimself  he  would 
claim  no  authority,  save  as  the  forerunner  of  another;  for 
his  own  baptism  no  value,  save  as  an  initiation  into  the 
kingdom  that  was  at  hand.  When  the  deputation  from  the 
Sanhedrin  asked  him  who  he  was — when  all  the  people 
were  musing  in  their  hearts  whether  he  were  the  Christ  or 
no — he  never  for  a  moment  hesitated  to  say  that  he  was 
not  the  Christ,  nor  Elias,  neither  that  proj^het.  He  was 
"a  voice  in  the  wilderness,"  and  nothing  more;  but  after 
him — and  this  was  the  announcement  that  stirred  most 
powerfully  the  hearts  of  men — after  him  was  coming  One 
who  was  preferred  befoi'e  him,  for  He  was  before 
him  —  One  whose  shoe's  latchet  he  was  unworthy  to 
unloose  —  One  who  should  baptize,  not  with  water, 
but  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  with  fire — One  whose 
fan  was  in  His  hand,  and  who  should  thoroughly 
purge  His  floor — who  should  gather  His  wheat  into  the 
garner,  but  burn  up  the  cliaff  with  unquenchable  fire. 
The  hour  for  tlie  sudden  coming  of  their  long-promised, 
long-expested  Mesa'ab  was  at  hand.     His  awful  presence 


ms  SA  P  TJSM  0  F  JOHN.  61 

was  near  them,  was  among  them,  but  they  knew  Iliin 
not. 

Thus  repentance  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven  were  the  two 
cardinal  points  of  his  preaching,  and  though  he  did  not 
claim  tlie  credentials  of  a  single  miracle,  yet  while  he 
threatened  detection  to  the  hypocrite  and  destruction  to 
the  hardened,  he  promised  also  pardon  to  the  penitent  and 
admission  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  to  tlie  pure  and 
clean.  "The  two  great  utterances,"  it  has  been  said, 
"  which  he  brings  from  the  desert,  contain  the  two  capi- 
tal revelations  to  which  all  the  preparation  of  the  Gospel 
has  been  teiuling.  Law  and  prophecy  ;  denunciation  of 
sin  and  promise  of  pardon;  the  flame  which  consumes  and 
the  light  which  consoles — is  not  this  the  whole  of  the 
covenant  ?" 

To  this  preaching,  to  this  baptism,  in  the  thirtieth  year 
of  His  age,  came  Jesiis  from  Galilee.  John  was  his  kins- 
man by  birth,  but  the  circumstances  of  their  life  had  en- 
tirely separated  them.  John,  as  a  cliild  in  the  house  of 
the  blameless  priest  his  father,  had  lived  at  Juttah,  in  the 
far  south  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  and  not  far  from  Hebron; 
Jesus  had  lived  in  the  deep  seclusion  of  the  carpenter's 
shop  ill  the  valley  of  Galilee.  When  He  first  came  to  the 
banks  of  the  Jordan,  the  great  forerunner,  according  to 
his  own  emphatic  and  twice  repeated  testimony,  "know 
Him  not."  And  yet,  though  Jesus  was  not  yet  revealed 
as  the  Messiah  to  His  great  herald-prophet,  there  was 
something  in  His  look,  something  in  the  sinless  beauty  of 
His  ways,  something  in  the  solemn  majesty  of  His  aspect, 
which  at  once  overawed  and  captivated  tlie  soul  of  John. 
To  others  he  was  the  uncompromising  prophet  ;  kings  lie 
could  confront  with  rebuke  ;  Pharisees  he  could  unmask 
with  indignation  ;  but  before  this  Presence  all  his  lofty 
bearing  falls.  As  v/hen  some  unknown  di-ead  checks  the 
flight  of  the  eagle,  and  makes  him  settle  with  hushed 
scream  and  drooping  plumage  on  the  ground,  so  before 
"the  royalty  of  inward  happiness,"  before  tlie  purity  of 
sinless  life,  the  wild  prophet  of  the  desert  becomes  like  a 
submissive  and  timid  child.  The  battle-brunt  which  legion- 
aries could  not  daunt — the  lofty  manhood  before  which 
hierarchs  trembled  and  princes  grew  pale — resigns  itself, 
submits,  adores  before  a  moral   force   which   is  weak  in 


e-^  THE  LtFE  OF  CHRIST. 

every  extenuil  attribute  and  aniu'd  only  in  an  invisible 
mail.  Jolin  bowed  to  the  siin})le  stainless  manhood  before 
he  had  been  inspired  to  recognize  the  Divine  commission. 
He  earnestly  tried  to  forbid  the  purpose  of  Jesus.  He 
who  had  received  the  confessions  of  all  others,  now  rever- 
ently and  humbly  makes  his  own.  "  1  have  need  to  be 
bai)tized  of  Thee,  and  comest  Thou  to  me?" 

The  answer  contains  the  second  recorded  utterance  of 
Jesus,  and  the  first  word  of  his  public  ministry — "  Suffer 
it  to  be  so  now:  for  thus  it  becometh  us  to  fulfill  all  right- 
eousness." 

**I  will  sprinkle  clean  water  upon  you,  and  ye  shall  be 
clean  " — such  seems  to  have  been  the  burden  of  John's 
message  to  the  sinners  who  had  become  sincerely  penitent. 

But,  if  so,  why  did  our  Lord  receive  baptism  at  His 
servant's  hands  ?  His  own  words  tells  us  ;  it  was  to  fulfill 
every  requirement  to  which  God's  will  might  seem  to  point 
(Ps.  xl.  7,  8).  He  did  not  accept  it  as  subsequent  to  a 
confession,  for  He  was  sinless  ;  and  in  this  respect,  even 
before  he  recognized  Him  as  the  Christ,  the  Baptist  clearly 
implied  that  the  right  would  be  in  His  case  exceptional. 
But  He  received  it  as  ratifying  the  mission  of  His  great 
forerunner — the  last  and  greatest  child  of  the  Old  Dispen- 
sation, the  earliest  herald  of  the  New;  and  He  also  received 
it  as  the  beautiful  symbol  of  moral  purification,  and  the 
humble  inauguration  of  a  ministry  which  came  not  to  de- 
stroy the  Law,  but  to  fulfill.  His  own  words  obviate  all 
possibility  of  misconception.  He  does  not  say,  "I  must," 
but,  "  thus  it  becometh  us."  He  does  not  say  "  I  have 
need  to  be  baptized;"  nor  does  he  say,  "'  Thou  hast  no  need 
to  be  baptized  of  me,"  but  He  says,  "Suffer  it  to  be  so 
now."  This  is,  indeed,  but  the  baptism  of  repentance  ; 
yet  it  may  serve  to  prefigure  the  "laver  of  regeneration." 

So  Jesus  descended  into  the  waters  of  Jordan,  and  there 
the  awful  sign  was  given  that  this  was  indeed  "  He  that 
should  come."  From  the  cloven  heaven  streamed  the 
Spirit  of  God  in  a  dove-like  radiance  that  seemed  to  hover 
over  His  head  in  lambent  flame,  and  the  Bath  Kdl,  which 
to  the  dull  nnpurged  ear  was  but  an  inarticulate  thunder, 
spake  in  the  voice  of  God  to  the  ears  of  John — "  This  is 
my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased." 


THE  TEMPTATION.  63 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     TEMPTATION. 

His  human  spirit  filled  with  overpowering  emotions, 
Jesus  sought  for  retirement,  to  be  alone  with  God,  and 
oMce  more  to  think  over  His  miglity  work.  From  the 
waters  of  the  Jordan  He  was  led — according  to  the  more 
intense  and  picturesque  expression  of  St,  Mark,  He  was 
"driven" — by  the  Spirit  into  the  wildeiness. 

A  tradition,  said  to  be  no  older  than  the  time  of  the 
Crusades,  fixes  the  scene  of  the  temptation  at  a  mountain 
to  the  west  of  Jericho,  which  from  this  circumstance 
has  received  the  name  of  Quarantania.  Naked  and  arid 
like  a  mountain  of  malediction,  rising  precipitously  from 
a  scorched  and  desert  plain,  and  looking  over  the  sluggish, 
bituminous  waters  of  the  Sodomitic  sea — thus  offering  a 
sharp  contrast  to  the  smiling  softness  of  the  Mountain  of 
Beatitudes  and  the  limpid  crystal  of  the  Lake  of  Genne- 
sareth — imagination  has  seen  in  it  a  fit  place  to  be  the 
haunt  of  evil  influences— a  place  where,  in  the  language 
of  the  prophets,  the  owls  dwell  and  the  satyrs  dance. 

And  here  Jesus,  according  to  that  graphic  and  pathetic 
touch  of  the  second  Evangelist,  "was  with  the  wild 
beasts."  They  did  not  harm  him.  "  Thou  shalt  tread 
upon  the  lion  and  the  adder  :  the  young  lion  and  the 
dragon  shalt  thou  trample  under  feet."  So  had  the  voice 
of  olden  promise  spoken  ;  and  in  Christ,  as  in  so  many  of 
His  children,  the  promise  was  fulfilled.  Those  whose  timid 
faith  shrinks  from  all  semblance  of  the  miraculous,  need 
find  nothing  to  alarm  them  here.  It  is  not  a  natural  thing 
that  the  wild  creatures  should  attack  with  ferocity,  or  fly 
in  terror  from,  their  master,  man,  A  poet  has  sung  of  a 
tropical  isle  that  — 

"  Nor  save  for  pity  was  it  hard  to  take 
The  helpless  life,  so  wild  that  it  was  tame." 

The  terror  or  the  fury  of  animals,  though  continued  by 
hereditary  instinct,  was  begun  by  cruel  and  w'auton 
aggression  ;  and  historical  instances   are   not  wanting  in 


04  TJIK  LIFE  OF  CimrST. 

Avliich  both  liavc  been  overoome  by  the  sweetness,  the 
iiKijesty,  the  gentleness  of  man.  There  seems  to  be  no 
adeqnate  reason  for  rejecting  tlie  nnanimous  belief  of  the 
early  centuries  that  the  wild  beasts  of  the  Thebaic!  moved 
freely  and  harmlessly  among  the  saintly  eremites,  and  that 
even  the  wildest  living  creatures  were  tame  and  gentle  to 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi.  Who  has  not  known  people  whose 
presence  does  not  scare  the  birds,  and  who  can  approach, 
without  danger,  the  most  savage  dog?  AVe  may  well  believe 
that  the  mere  human  si^ell  of  a  living  and  sinless  personality 
would  go  far  to  keep  the  Saviour  from  danger.  In  the 
catacombs  and  on  other  ancient  monuments  of  early  Chris- 
tians, He  is  sometimes  represented  as  Orpheus  charming 
the  animals  with  his  song.  All  that  was  true  and  beauti- 
ful in  the  old  legends  found  its  fulfillment  in  Him,  and  was 
but  a  symbol  of  His  life  and  work. 

And  he  was  in  the  wilderness  forty  days.  The  number 
occurs  again  and  again  in  Scripture,  and  always  in  connec- 
tion with  the  facts  of  temptation  or  retribution.  It  is 
clearly  a  sacred  and  representative  number,  and  independ- 
ently of  other  associations,  it  was  for  forty  days  that  Moses 
had  stayed  on  Sinai,  and  Elijah  in  the  wilderness.  In 
moments  of  intense  excitement  and  overwhelming  thought 
the  ordinary  needs  of  the  body  seem  to  be  modified,  or 
even  for  a  time  superseded  ;  and  unless  we  are  to  under- 
stand St.  Luke's  words,  '*  He  did  eat  nothing,"  as  being 
absolutely  literal,  we  might  suppose  that  Jesus  found  all 
that  was  necessary  for  His  bare  sustenance  in  such  scant 
fruits  as  the  desert  might  afford  ;  but  however  that  may 
be — and  it  is  a  question  of  little  importance — at  the  end 
of  the  time  He  hungered.  And  this  was  the  tempter's 
moment.  The  whole  period  had  been  one  of  moral  and 
spiritual  tension.  During  such  high  hours  of  excitement 
men  will  sustain,  without  succumbing,  an  almost  incred- 
ible amount  of  labor,  and  soldiers  will  tight  through  along 
day's  battle  unconscious  or  oblivious  of  their  wounds.  But 
when  the  enthusiasm  is  spent,  when  the  exaltation  dies 
away,  when  the  fire  burns  low,  when  Nature,  weary  and 
overstrained,  reasserts  her  right  —  in  a  word,  when  a 
mighty  reaction  has  begun,  which  leaves  the  man  suffer- 
ing, spiritless,  exhausted  —  then  is  the  hour  of  extreme 
danger,  and  that  has  been,  in  many  a  fatal  instance,  the 


THE  TEMPTATION.  65 

moment  in  which  a  man  has  fallen  a  victim  to  insidious 
allurement  or  bold  assault.  It  was  at  such  a  moment  that 
the  great  battle  of  our  Lord  against  the  powers  of  evil  was 
fought  and  won. 

The  struggle  was,  as  is  evident,  no  mere  allegory.  Into 
the  exact  internal  nature  of  the  temptation  it  seems 
at  once  superfluous  and  irreverent  to  enter  —  superfluous 
because  it  is  a  question  in  which  any  absolute  decision  is 
for  us  impossible;  irreverent  because  the  Evangelists  could 
only  have  heard  it  from  the  lips  of  Jesus,  or  of  those 
to  whom  He  communicated  it,  and  our  Lord  could 
only  have  narrated  it  in  the  form  which  conveys  at  once  the 
truest  impression  and  the  most  instructive  lessons. 
Almost  every  different  expositor  has  had  a  different  view 
as  to  the  agency  employed,  and  the  objective  or  subjective 
reality  of  the  entire  event.  From  Origen  down  to  Schleier- 
macher  some  have  regarded  it  as  a  vision  or  allegory — the 
symbolic  description  of  a  purely  inward  struggle ;  and 
even  so  literal  and  orthodox  a  commentator  as  Calvin  has 
embraced  this  view.  On  this  point,  which  is  a  matter  of 
mere  exegesis,  each  must  hold  the  view  which  seems  to 
him  most  in  accordance  with  the  truth;  but  the  one  essen- 
tial point  is  that  the  struggle  was  powerful,  personal, 
intensely  real  —  that  Christ,  for  our  sakes,  met  and  con- 
quered the  tempter's  utmost  strength. 

The  question  as  to  whether  Christ  was  or  was  not  ccqjoble 
of  sin — to  express  it  in  the  language  of  that  scholastic  and 
theological  region  in  which  it  originated,  the  question  as  to  the 
peccability  or  impeccability  of  His  human  nature — is  one 
which  would  never  occur  to  a  simple  and  reverent  mind. 
We  believe  and  know  that  our  blessed  Lord  was  sinless — 
the  Lamb  of  God,  without  blemish  and  without  spot. 
What  can  be  the  possible  edification  or  advantage  in  the 
discussion  as  to  whether  this  sinlessness  sprang  from  a 
posse  71071  jjeccare  or  a  7i07i  posse  j^eccare?  Some,  in  a  zeal 
at  once  intemperate  and  ignorant,  have  claimed  for  Him 
not  only  an  actual  sinlessness,  but  a  nature  to  which  sin 
was  divinely  and  miraculously  impossible.  What  then  ? 
If  His  great  conflict  were  a  mere  deceptive  phantasma- 
goria, how  can  the  narrative  of  it  profit  us?  If  7ve  have  to 
fight  the  battle  clad  in  that  armor  of  human  free-will 
which  has  been  hacked  and  riven  about  tlie  bosom  of  our 


QQ  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

fatliers  by  so  many  a  cruel  blow,  what  comfort  is  it  to  us 
if  our  great  Captain  fouglit  not  only  victoriously,  but 
without  real  danger;  not  only  uninjured,  but  without  even 
a  possibility  of  wound?  Where  is  the  warrior's  courage,  if. 
he  knows  that  for  him  there  is  but  the  semblance  of  a 
battle  against  the  simulacrum  of  a  foe?  Are  we  not  thus, 
nnder  an  appearance  of  devotion,  robbed  of  one  who, 
''though  He  were  a  son,  yet  learned  ohedience  by  the 
things  which  he  sulfered?"  Are  we  not  thus,  under  the 
guise  of  orthodoxy,  mocked  in  our  belief  that  we  have  a 
High  Priest  who  can  be  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  in- 
firmities, "being  tempted  in  all  points  like  as  we  are,  yet 
without  sin?"  They  who  would  thits  honor  him  rob  us  of 
our  living  Christ,  who  was  very  man  no  less  than  very 
God,  and  substitute  for  Him  a  perilous  Apollinarian 
phantom  enshrined  "  in  the  cold  empyrean  of  theology," 
and  alike  incapable  of  kindling  devotion  or  of  inspiring 
love. 

Whether,  then,  it  comes  under  the  form  of  a  pseudo- 
orthodoxy,  false  and  pharisaical,  and  eager  only  to  detect 
or  condemn  the  supposed  heresy  of  others;  or  whether  it 
comes  from  the  excess  of  a  dishonoring  reverence  which 
lias  degenerated  into  the  spirit  of  fear  and  bondage — let  us 
beware  of  contradicting  the  expi'ess  teaching  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, and,  as  regards  this  narrative,  the  express  teaching 
of  Christ  Himself,  by  a  supposition  that  He  was  not  liable 
to  real  temptation.  Nay,  He  was  liable  to  temptation  all 
the  sorer,  because  it  came  like  agony  to  a  nature  infinitely 
strong  yet  infinitely  pure.  In  proportion  as  any  one  has 
striven  all  his  life  to  be,  like  his  great  Ensample,  holy, 
harmless,  nndefiled,  separate  from  sinners,  in  that  propor- 
tion will  he  realize  the  intensity  of  the  struggle,  the 
anguish  of  the  antipathy  which  jDcrvades  a  nobler  nature 
when,  either  by  suggestions  from  within  or  from  without, 
it  has  been  dragged  into  even  apparent  proximity  to  the 
possibilities  of  evil.  There  are  few  passages  in  the  Fil- 
(jrini's  Progress  more  powerful,  or  more  suggestive  of  pro- 
found acquaintance  with  the  mysteries  of  the  human 
heart,  than  that  in  which  Christian  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death  finds  his  mind  filled  with  revolting 
images  and  blaspheming  words,  which  have  indeed  been 
but  whispered  into  his  ear,  beyond  his  own  powers  of  rejec- 


THE  TEMPTATION.  67 

tion,  by  an  evil  spirit,  but  which,  iu  his  dire  bewilderment, 
he  cannot  distinguish  or  disentangle  from  thoughts  which 
are  his  own,  and  to  which  his  will  consents.  In  Christ, 
indeed,  we  suppose  that  such  special  complications  would 
be  wholly  impossible,  not  because  of  any  transcendental 
endowments  connected  with  "imminent  divinity"  or  the 
"communication  of  idioms,"  but  because  he  had  lived 
without  yielding  to  wickedness,  whereas  in  men  these 
illusions  arise  in  general  from  their  own  past  sins.  They 
are,  in  fact,  nothing  else  but  the  flitting  specters  of  in- 
iquities forgotten  or  unforgotten — the  mists  that  reek 
upward  from  the  stagnant  places  in  the  deepest  caverns  of 
hearts  not  yet  wholly  cleansed.  No,  in  Christ  there  could 
not  be  this  terrible  inability  to  discern  that  which  comes 
from  within  us  and  that  which  is  forced  upon  us  from 
without — between  that  which  the  weak  will  has  entertained, 
or  to  which,  in  that  ever-shifting  border-land  which 
separates  thought  from  action,  it  has  half  assented,  and 
that  with  whicii  it  does  indeed  find  itself  in  immediate 
contact,  but  which,  nevertheless,  it  repudiates  with  every 
muscle  and  fiber  of  its  moral  being.  It  must  be  a  weak  or 
a  perverted  intellect  which  imagines  that  "man  becomes 
acquainted  with  temptation  only  in  proportion  as  he  is  de- 
filed by  it,"  or  that  is  unable  to  discriminate  between  the 
severity  of  a  powerful  temptation  and  the  stain  of  a  guilty 
thought.  It  may  sound  like  a  truism,  but  it  is  a  truism 
much  needed  alike  for  our  warning  and  our  comfort,  when 
the  poet  who,  better  than  any  other,  has  traversed  every 
winding  in  the  labyrinth  of  the  human  heart,  has  told  us 
with  such  solemnity — 

"  'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall." 

And  Jesus  was  tempted.  The  "  Captain  of  our  salva- 
tion "  was  "  made  perfect  through  suflferings."  "In  that 
He  Himself  ludh  suffered  being  tempted,  He  is  able  to 
succor  them  that  are  tempted."  The  wilderness  of 
Jericho  and  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane — these  witnessed 
His  two  most  grievous  struggles,  and  in  these  He  tri- 
umphed wholly  over  the  worst  and  most  awful  assaults  of 
the  enemy  of  souls  ;  but  during  no  part  of  the  days  of  His 
flesh   was   He  free  from   temptation,  since  otherwise  His 


68  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

life  liad  been  wo  true  human  life  at  all,  nor  would  He  in 
the  same  measure  have  left  us  an  ensample  that  we  sliould 
follow  His  steps.  "Many  other  were  the  occasions,"  says 
St.  Bonaventura,  "  on  which  he  endured  temptations." 
"  They,"  says  St.  Bernard,  "  who  reckon  only  three  temp- 
tations of  our  Lord,  sho\v  their  ignorance  of  Scripture." 
He  refers  to  John  vii.  1,  and  Heb.  iv.  15  ;  he  might  have 
referred  still  more  appositely  to  the  express  statement  of 
St.  Luke,  that  when  the  temptation  in  the  wilderness  was 
over,  the  foiled  tempter  left  Him  indeed,  but  left  Him 
only  "for  a  season,"  or,  as  the  words  may  perhaps  be 
rendered,  "till  a  new  opportunity  occurred."  Yet  we 
may  well  believe  that  when  He  rose  victorious  out  of  the 
dark  wiles  in  the  wilderness,  all  subsequent  temptations, 
until  the  last,  floated  as  lightly  over  His  sinless  soul  as  the 
cloud-wreath  of  a  summer  day  floats  over  the  blue  heaven 
which  it  cannot  stain. 

1.  The  exhaustion  of  a  long  fast  would  have  acted  more 
powerfully  on  the  frame  of  Jesus  from  the  circumstance 
that  with  Him  it  was  not  usual.  It  was  Avith  a  gracious 
purpose  that  He  lived,  not  as  a  secluded  ascetic  in  hard 
and  self-inflicted  pangs,  but  as  a  man  with  men.  Nor 
does  He  ever  enjoin  fasting  as  a  positive  obligation, 
although  in  two  passages  He  more  than  sanctions  it  as  a 
valuable  aid  (Matt.  vi.  lG-18  ;  ix.  15).  But,  in  general, 
we  know  from  His  own  words  that  He  came  "  eating  and 
drinking  ;"  practicing,  not  ahstinence,  but  temperance  in 
all  things,  joining  in  the  harmless  feasts  and  innocent  as- 
semblages of  friends,  so  that  His  enemies  dared  to  say  of 
Him,  "  Behold  a  gluttonous  man  and  a  winebibber,''  as  of 
John  they  said,  "He  hath  a  devil."  After  His  fast, 
therefore,  of  forty  days,  however  supported  by  solemn  con- 
templation and  supernatural  aid,  His  hunger  would  be  the 
more  severe.  And  then  it  was  that  the  tempter  came  ;  in 
what  form — whether  as  a  spirit  of  darkness  or  as  an  angel 
of  light,  whether  under  the  disguise  of  a  human  aspect 
or  an  immaterial  suggestion,  we  do  not  know  and  cannot 
pretend  to  say — content  to  follow  simply  the  Gospel  nar- 
rative, and  to  adopt  its  expiessions,  not  with  dry  dogmatic 
assertion  as  to  the  impossibility  of  such  exnressions  being 
in  a  greater  or  less  degree  allegorical,  but  with  a  view  only 
to  learn  those  deep  moral  lessons  which  alone  concern  us, 


THE  TEMPTATION.  69 

and  which  alone  are  capable  of  an  indisputable  interpre- 
tation. 

"  If  Thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  command  that  these 
stones  be  made  loaves."  So  spake  the  Tempter  first. 
Jesus  was  hungry,  and  "  these  stones"  were  perhaps  those 
siliceous  accretions,  sometimes  known  under  the  name  of 
lapides  judaici,  which  assume  the  exact  shape  of  little 
loaves  of  bread,  and  which  were  represented  in  legend  as 
the  petrified  fruits  of  the  Cities  of  the  Phiin.  Tlie  pangs 
of  hunger  work  all  tlie  more  powerfully  when  they  are 
stimulated  by  the  added  tortures  of  a  quick  imagination  ; 
and  if  the  conjecture  be  correct,  then  the  very  shape  and 
aspect  and  traditional  origin  of  these  stones  would  give  to 
the  temptation  ai\  added  force. 

There  can  be  no  stronger  proof  of  the  authenticity  and 
divine  origin  of  this  narrative  than  tlie  profound  subtlety 
and  typical  universality  of  each  temptation.  Not  only  are 
they  wholly  unlike  the  far  cruder  and  simpler  stories  of 
the  temptation,  in  all  ages,  of  those  who  have  been  emi- 
nent saints,  but  there  is  in  them  a  delicacy  of  insight,  an 
originality  of  conception,  that  far  transcend  the  range  of 
the  most  powerful  invention. 

It  was  a  temptation  to  the  senses — an  appeal  to  the  ap- 
petites— an  impulse  given  to  the  lower  nature  which  man 
shares  with  all  the  animal  creation.  But  so  far  from  com- 
ing in  any  coarse  or  undisguisedly  sensuous  form,  it  came 
shrouded  in  a  thousand  subtle  veils.  Israel,  too,  had  been 
humbled,  and  suffered  to  hunger  in  the  wilderness,  and 
there,  in  his  extreme  need,  God  had  fed  him  with  manna, 
which  was  as  angels'  food  and  bread  from  heaven.  Whv 
did  not  the  Son  of  God  tluis  provide  Himself  with  a  table 
in  the  wilderness  ?  He  could  do  so  if  he  liked,  and  why 
should  He  hesitate  ?  If  an  angel  had  revealed  to  the 
fainting  Hagar  the  fountain  of  Beer-lahai-roi — if  an  angel 
had  touched  the  famishing  Elijali,  and  shown  him  food — 
why  should  He  await  even  the  ministry  of  angels  to  whom 
such  ministry  was  needless,  but  whom,  if  He  willed  it, 
angels  would  have  been  so  glad  to  serve  ? 

How  deep  is  the  wisdom  of  the  reply  !  Eeferring  to  the 
very  lesson  which  the  giving  of  the  manna  had  been 
designed  to  teach,  and  quoting  one  of  the  noblest  utter- 
ances of  Old  Testament  inspiration,  our  Lord  answered, 


70  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"  It  standeth  written,  Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone, 
but  by  every  word  that  proeeedeth  out  of  tlie  mouth  of 
God."  And  what  a  Icsrfon  lies  herein  for  us — a  lesson 
enforced  by  how  great  an  example — that  we  are  not  to  be 
guided  by  the  wants  of  our  lower  nature  ;  that  we  may  not 
misuse  that  lower  nature  for  the  purposes  of  our  own  sus- 
tenance and  enjoyment ;  that  we  are  not  our  own,  and  may 
not  do  what  we  will  with  that  which  we  imagine  to  be  our 
own;  that  even  those  things  which  may  seem  lawful,  are 
yet  not  all  expedient ;  that  man  has  higher  principles  of 
life  than  material  sustenance,  as  he  is  a  higher  existence 
than  his  material  frame.  He  who  thinks  that  we  live  by 
bread  alone,  will  make  the  securing  of  bread  that  chief  ob- 
ject of  liis  life — will  determine  to  have  it  at  wliatever  cost — 
will  be  at  once  miserable  and  rebellious  if  even  for  a  time  he 
be  stinted  or  deprived  of  it,  and  because  he  seeks  no  diviner 
food,  will  inevitably  starve  with  hunger  in  the  midst  of  it. 
But  he  who  knows  that  man  doth  noi  live  by  bread  alone, 
will  not  thus,  for  the  sake  of  living,  lose  all  that  makes  life 
dear — will,  when  he  has  done  his  duty,  trust  God  to  pre- 
serve with  all  things  needful  the  body  he  has  made — will 
seek  with  more  earnest  endeavor  the  bread  from  heaven, 
and  that  living  water  whereof  he  who  drinketh  shall  thirst 
no  more. 

And  thus  His  first  temptation  was  analogous  in  form  to 
the  last  taunt  addressed  to  Him  on  the  cross — ''If  Thou 
be  the  Son  of  God,  come  down  from  the  cross."  "  If" — 
since  faith  and  trust  are  the  mainstay  of  all  human  holi- 
ness, the  tempter  is  ever  strongest  in  the  suggestion  of 
such  doubts;  strong,  too,  in  his  appeal  to  the  free-will  and 
the  self-will  of  man.  "  You  may,  you  can — why  not  do 
it?"  On  the  cross  our  Saviour  answers  not;  here  He  an- 
swers only  to  express  a  great  eternal  principle.  He  does 
not  say,  "  I  am  the  Son  of  God;"  in  the  profundity  of  His 
humiliation,  in  the  extreme  of  his  self-sacrifice.  He  made 
not  His  equality  with  God  a  thing  to  be  grasped  at,  "  but 
made  Himself  of  no  reputation."  He  foils  the  tempter, 
not  as  very  God,  but  as  very  man. 

3.  The  order  of  the  temptation  is  given  differently  by 
St.  Matthew  and  St.  Luke,  St.  Matthew  placing  second 
the  scene  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  Temple,  and  St.  Luke  the 
vision  of  the  kingdoms  of  the  world.     Both  orders  cannot 


THE  TEMPTATION.  71 

be  riglit,  and  possibly  St.  Luke  may  have  been  influenced 
in  his  arrangement  by  the  thought  that  a  temptation  to 
spiritual  pride  and  the  arbitrary  exercise  of  miraculous 
power  was  a  subtler  and  less  transparent,  and  therefore 
more  powerful  one,  than  the  temptation  to  fall  down  and 
recognize  the  power  of  evil.  But  the  words,  "  Get  thee 
behind  me,  Satan,"  recorded  by  both  Evangelists  (Luke  iv. 
8;  Matt.  iv.  10)— the  fact  that  St,  Matthew  alone  gives  a 
definite  sequence  ("then,"  ''again")— perhaps,  too,  the 
consideration  that  St.  Matthew,  as  one  of  the  Apostles,  is 
more  likely  to  have  heard  the  narrative  immediately  from 
the  lips  of  Christ — give  greater  weight  to  the  order  which 
he  adopts. 

Jesus  had  conquered  and  rejected  the  first  temptation  by 
the  expression  of  an  absolute  trust  in  God.  Adapting 
itself,  therefore,  with  infinite  subtlety  to  the  discovered 
mood  of  the  Saviour's  soul,  the  next  temptation,  challeng- 
ing as  it  were  directly,  and  appealing  immediately  to,  this 
absolute  trust,  claims  the  illustration  and  expression  of  it, 
not  to  relieve  an  immediate  necessity,  but  to  avert  an  over- 
whelming peril.  "  Then  he  brought  Him  to  the  Holy 
City,  and  setteth  Him  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  Temple." 
Some  well-known  pinnacle  of  that  well-known  mass  must 
be  intended  ;  perhaps  the  roof  of  the  Stoa  Basilike,  or 
Royal  Porch,  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Temple,  which 
looked  down  sheer  into  the  valley  of  the  Kidron  below  it., 
from  a  heiglit  so  dizzy  that,  according  to  the  description 
of  Josephus,  if  any  one  ventured  to  look  down,  his  head 
would  swim  at  the  immeasurable  depth;  perhaps  Solomon's 
Porch,  the  Stoa  Anatolike,  which  Josephus  also  has  de- 
scribed, and  from  which,  according  to  tradition,  St.  James, 
the  Lord's  brother,  was  afterward  precipitated  into  the 
court  below. 

"If" — again  that  doubt,  as  though  to  awake  a  spirit  of 
pride,  in  the  exercise  of  that  miraculous  display  to  which 
He  is  tempted — "  if  thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  cast  Thyself 
down."  "Thou  art  in  danger  not  self-souglit;  save  Thy- 
self from  it,  as  Thou  canst  and  mayest,  and  thereby  prove 
Thy  Divine  power  and  nature.  Is  it  not  written  that  the 
angels  shall  bear  Thee  up  ?  Will  not  this  be  a  splendid 
proof  of  Thy  trust  in  God?"  Thus  deep  and  subtle  was 
this  temptation  ;  and  thus,    since  Jesus  had  appealed   to 


7-2  THE  LIFK  OF  CHRIST. 

Scripture,  did  the  devil  also  "quote  Scripture  for  his  pur- 
pose." For  tliore  was  notliing  vulgar,  nothing  selfish, 
nothing  sensuous  in  this  temptation.  It  was  an  appeal, 
not  to  natural  appetites,  but  to  perverted  spiritual  instincts. 
Does  not  the  history  of  sects,  and  parties,  and  churches, 
and  men  of  high  religious  claims,  show  us  that  thousands 
who  could  not  sink  into  the  slough  of  sensuality,  have  yet 
thrust  themselves  arrogantly  into  needless  perils,  and  been 
dashed  into  headlong  ruin  from  the  pinnacle  of  spiritual 
pride?  And  how  calm,  yet  full  of  warning,  was  that  sim- 
ple answer,  "It  is  written  again,  'Thou  shalt  not  tempt 
the  Lord  thy  God.'  "  The  woid  in  the  original  {£H7ciipd6Ei'i 
— Matt.  iv.  7;  Deut.  vi.  16)  is  stronger  and  more  expres- 
sive. It  is,  "  Thou  shalt  not  tempt  to  the  extreme  the  Lord 
thy  God;"  thou  shalt  not,  as  it  were,  presume  on  all  that 
He  can  do  for  thee;  thou  shalt  not  claim  His  miraculous 
intervention  to  save  thee  from  thine  own  presumption  and 
folly  ;  thou  shalt  not  challenge  His  power  to  the  proof. 
When  thou  art  in  the  path  of  duty  trust  in  Him  to  the  ut- 
most with  a  perfect  confidence  ;  but  listen  not  to  that 
haughty  seductive  whisper,  "Ye  shall  be  as  gods,"  and  let 
there  be  no  self-willed  and  capricious  irreverence  in  thy 
demand  for  aid.  Then — to  add  the  words  so  cunningly 
omitted  by  the  tempter — "  shalt  thou  be  safe  in  all  thy 
ways."  And  Jesus  does  not  even  allude  to  His  apparent 
danger.  Danger  not  self-sought  is  safety.  The  tempter's 
own  words  had  been  a  confession  of  his  own  impotence — 
"Cast  Thyself  down."  Even  from  that  giddy  height  he 
had  no  power  to  hurl  Him  wliom  God  kept  safe.  The 
Scripture  which  he  had  quoted  was  true,  though  he  had 
perverted  it.  No  amount  of  temptation  can  ever  necessi- 
tate a  sin.  With  every  temptation  God  provides  also  "  the 
way"  to  escape: 

"  Also  it  is  written, 
'  Tempt  not  the  Lord  thy  God,'  He  said,  and  stood: 
But  Satan,  smitten  by  amazement,  fell." 

3.  Foiled  in  his  appeal  to  natural  hunger,  or  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  spiritual  pride,  the  tempter  appealed  to  "the 
last  infirmity  of  noble  mitids,"  and  staked  all  on  one 
splendid  cast.  He  makes  up  for  the  want  of  subtlety  in 
the  form  by  the  apparent  magnificence  of  the  issue.     From 


THE  TEMPTATION.  73 

a  high  mountain  he  showed  Jesus  all  the  kingdoms  of  the 
world  and  the  glory  of  them,  and  as  the  HodjuoHpdroop,  the 
"prince  of  this  world,"  he  offered  them  all  to  Him  who 
had  lived  as  the  village  carpenter,  in  return  for  one 
expression  of  homage,  one  act  of  acknowledgment. 

"The  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  the  glory  of  them!" 
"There  are  some  that  will  say,"  says  Bisliop  Andrewes, 
"  that  we  are  never  tempted  with  kingdoms.  It  may  be 
Avell,  for  it  needs  not  be,  when  less  will  serve.  It  was 
Christ  only  tliat  was  thus  tempted;  in  Him  lay  an  heroical 
mind  that  could  not  be  tempted  with  small  matters.  But 
with  us  it  is  nothing  so,  for  we  esteem  more  basely  of  our- 
selves. We  set  our  wares  at  a  very  easy  price;  he  may  buy 
us  even  dagger-cheap.  He  need  never  carry  us  so  high  as 
the  mount.  The  pinnacle  is  high  enough;  yea,  the  lowest 
steeple  in  all  tlie  town  would  serve  the  turn.  Or  let  him 
but  carry  us  to  the  leads  and  gutters  of  our  own  houses; 
nay,  let  us  but  stand  in  our  windows  or  our  doors,  if 
he  will  give  us  so  much  as  we  can  there  see,  he  will  tempt 
us  thoroughly  ;  we  will  accept  it,  and  thank  him  too. 
.  .  A  matter  of  half-a-crown,  or  ten  groats,  a  pair  of 
shoes,  or  some  such  trifle,  will  bring  us  on  our  knees  to 
the  devil." 

But  Christ  taught,  "What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he 
gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul?" 

There  was  one  living  who,  scarcely  in  a  figure,  might  be 
said  to  have  the  whole  world.  The  Roman  Emperor 
Tiberius  was  at  tliat  moment  infinitely  the  most  powerful 
of  living  men,  the  absolute,  undisputed,  deified  ruler  of  all 
that  was  fairest  and  richest  in  the  king'loms  of  the  earth. 
There  was  no  control  to  his  power,  no  limit  to  his  wealth, 
no  restraint  upon  his  pleasures.  And  to  yield  himself  still 
more  unreservedly  to  the  boundless  self-gratification  of  a 
voluptuous  luxury,  not  long  after  this  time  he  chose  for 
himself  a  home  on  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  on  the  earth's 
surface,  under  the  shadow  of  the  slumbering  volcano,  upon 
an  enchanted  islet  in  one  of  the  most  softly  delicious 
climates  of  the  world.  What  came  of  it  all  ?  He  was,  as 
Pliny  calls  him,  "tristissimus  ut  constat  hominum,"  con- 
fessedly the  most  gloomy  of  mankind.  And  there,  from 
tiiis  home  of  his  hidden  infamies,  from  this  island  where 
on  a  scale  so  splendid  he  had  tried  the  experiment  of  what 


;4  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

li;ip])iness  can  be  achieved  by  pressing  the  world's  most 
absolute  authority,  and  the  world's  guiltiest  indulgences, 
into  tlie  service  of  an  exclusively  selfish  life,  he  wrote  to 
his  servile  and  corrupted  Senate,  "  What  to  write  to  you, 
Conscript  Fathers,  or  how  to  write,  or  what  not  to  write, 
may  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  destroy  me,  worse  than  I 
feci  that  they  are  daily  destroying  me,  if  I  know."  Rai-ely 
has  there  been  vouchsafed  to  the  world  a  more  overwhelm- 
ing proof  that  its  richest  gifts  are  but  "fairy  gold  that 
turns  to  dust  and  dross,"  and  its  most  colossal  edifices  of 
personal  splendor  and  greatness  no  more  dnrable  barrier 
against  the  encroachment  of  bitter  misery  than  are  the 
babe's  sand  heaps  to  stay  the  mighty  march  of  the  Atlantic- 
tide. 

In  such  perplexity,  in  such  anguish,  does  the  sinful  pos- 
session of  all  riches  and  all  rule  end.  Such  is  the  invari- 
able Nemesis  of  unbridled  lusts.  It  does  not  need  the 
snaky  tresses  or  the  shaken  torch  of  the  fabled  Erinnyes. 
The  guilty  conscience  is  its  own  adequate  avenger  ;  and 
"  if  the  world  were  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite,"  and 
that  gem  ours,  it  would  not  console  ns  for  one  hour  of 
that  inward  torment,  or  compensate  in  any  way  for  those 
lacerating  pangs. 

But  he  who  is  an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is 
lord  over  vaster  and  more  real  worlds,  infinitely  happy 
because  infinitely  pure.  And  over  that  kingdom  Satan  has 
no  power.  It  is  the  kingdom  of  God  ;  and  since  from 
Satan  not  even  the  smallest  semblance  of  any  of  his  ruinous 
gifts  can  be  gained  except  by  suffering  the  sonl  to  do  alle- 
giance to  him,  the  answer  to  all  his  temptations  is  the 
answer  of  Christ,  "  Get  thee  behind  me  Satan  :  for  it  is 
written,  '  Tiiou  shalt  worship  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  Him 
only  shalt  thou  serve.'" 

Thus  was  Christ  victorious,  through  that  self-renuncia- 
tion through  which  only  can  victory  be  won.  And  the 
moments  of  such  honest  struggle  crowned  with  victory  are 
the  very  sweetest  and  happiest  that  the  life  of  man  can 
give.  They  are  full  of  an  elevation  and  a  delight  which 
can  only  be  described  in  language  borrowed  from  the 
imagery  of  Heaven. 

''Then  the  devil  leaveth  Him  "—St.  Luke  adds,  ''  till  a 
fitting  opportunity"  —  ''and,  behold,  angels  came  and 
ministered  unto  Him." 


THE  FIRST  APOSTLES.  75 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE     FIKST     APOSTLES. 


Victorious  over  that  concentrated  temptation,  safe 
from  the  fiery  ordeal,  the  Saviour  left  the  wilderness  and 
returned  to  the  fords  of  Jordan. 

The  Synoptical  Gospels,  which  dwell  mainly  on  the 
ministry  in  Galilee,  and  date  its  active  commencement 
from  the  imprisonment  of  John,  omit  all  record  of  the 
intermediate  events,  and  only  mention  our  Lord's  retire- 
ment to  Nazareth.  It  is  to  the  fourth  Evangelist  that  we 
owe  the  beautiful  narrative  of  the  days  which  immediatelj 
ensued  upon  the  temptation.  The  Judtean  ministry  is 
brought  by  him  into  the  first  prominence.  He  seems  to 
have  made  a  point  of  relating  nothing  of  which  hehadiiot 
been  a  personal  witness,  and  tliere  are  some  few  indica- 
tions that  he  was  bound  to  Jerusalem  by  peculiar  rela- 
tions. By  station  St.  John  was  a  fisherman,  and  it  is  not 
impossible  that,  as  the  fish  of  tiie  Lake  of  Galilee  were 
sent  in  large  quantities  to  Jerusalem,  he  may  have  lived 
there  at  certain  seasons  in  connection  with  the  employ- 
ment of  his  father  and  his  brother,  who,  as  the  owners  of 
their  own  boat  and  the  masters  of  hired  servants,  evidently 
occupied  a  position  of  some  importance.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  it  is  St.  John  alone  who  narrates  to  us  the  first 
call  of  the  earliest  Apostles,  and  he  relates  it  with  all 
the  minute  particulars  and  graphic  touches  of  one  on 
whose  heart  and  memory  each  incident  had  been  indelibly 
impressed. 

The  deputation  of  the  Sanhedrin  (to  which  we  have 
already  alluded)  seems  to  have  taken  place  the  day  previous 
to  our  Lord's  return  from  the  wilderness;  and  when,  on 
the  following  morning,  the  Baptist  saw  Jesus  approach- 
ing, he  delivered  a  public  and  emphatic  testimony  that 
this  was  indeed  the  Messiah  who  had  been  marked  out  to 
him  by  the  appointed  sign,  and  that  He  was  "  the  Lamb 
of  God  tliat  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world."  Whether 
the  prominent  conception  in  the  Baptist's  mind  was  the 
Paschal  Lamb,  or  the  Lamb  of  the  morning  and  evening 


7G  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

sacrifice  ;  wlicther  "  the  world  "  {m66mo?)  was  the  actual 
expression  which  he  used,  or  is  merely  a  Greek  render- 
ing of  the  word  "people";  whether  he  understood  the 
profound  and  awful  import  of  liis  own  utterance,  or  was 
carried  by  prophetic  inspiration  beyond  himself  —  we 
cannot  tell.  But  this  much  is  clear,  that  since  his  whole 
imagery,  and  indeed  the  very  description  of  his  own  func- 
tion and  ])osition,  is,  as  we  have  already  seen,  borrowed 
from  the  Evaiigolicul  prophet,  he  must  have  used  the 
expression  with  distinct  reference  to  the  picture  of  Divine 
i^atience  and  mediatorial  suffering  in  Isa.  liii.  7  (cf.  Jer. 
xi.  19).  Ilis  words  could  hardly  have  involved  less  meaning 
than  this — that  the  gentle  and  sinless  man  to  whom  he 
pointed  should  be  a  man  of  son'ows,  and  that  these  sorrows 
should  be  for  the  salvation  of  Ilis  race.  Whatever  else 
the  words  may  have  connoted  to  the  minds  of  his  hearers, 
yet  they  could  hardly  have  thought  them  over  without 
connecting  Jesus  with  the  conceptions  of  sinlessness,  of 
suffering,  and  of  a  redeeming  work. 

Memorable  as  this  testimony  was,  it  seems  on  the  first 
day  to  have  produced  Jio  immediate  result.  But  on  the 
second  day,  when  the  Baptist  was  standing  accompanied 
by  two  of  his  disci]des,  Jesus  again  walked  by,  and  John, 
fixing  uj^on  Ilim  his  intense  and  earnest  gaze,  exclaimed 
again,  as  though  with  involuntary  awe  and  admiration, 
"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God!" 

The  words  were  too  remarkable  to  be  again  neglected, 
and  the  two  Galilean  youths  who  heard  them  followed  the 
retreating  figure  of  Jesus.  He  caught  the  sound  of  their 
timid  footsteps,  and  turning  round  to  look  at  them  as 
they  came  near,  He  gently  asked,  "  What  seek  ye  ?" 

It  was  but  the  very  beginning  of  His  ministry:  as  yet 
they  could  not  know  Him  for  all  that  He  was;  as  yet  they 
they  had  not  heard  the  gracious  words  that  proceeded  out 
of  His  lips  ;  in  coming  to  seek  Him  thus  they  might  be 
actuated  by  inadequate  motives,  or  even  by  mere  passing 
curiosity  ;  it  was  fit  that  they  should  come  to  Him  by 
spontaneous  impulse,  and  declare  their  object  of  their  own 
free  will. 

But  how  deep  and  full  of  meaning  is  that  question,  and 
how  sternly  it  behooves  all  who  come  to  their  Lord  to 
answer   it  I     One   of  the   holiest  of   the  church's   saints, 


THE  FIRS7  APOSTLES.  7-^ 

St.  Bernard,  was  in  the  habit  of  constantly  warning  him- 
self by  the  solemn  query,  "  Bernarde,  ad  quid  vetiisti?" 
"  Bernard,  for  what  purpose  art  thou  here  ?"  Self-exam- 
ination could  assume  no  more  searching  form  ;  but  all  the 
meaning  which  it  involved  was  concentrated  in  that  quiet 
and  simple  question,  '•'  What  seek  ye  ?" 

It  was  more  than  the  two  young  Galilaans  could  answer 
Him  at  once  ;  it  meant  more  perhaps  than  they  knew  or 
understood  ;  yet  the  answer  showed  that  they  were  in 
earnest.  "  Rabbi,"  they  said  (and  the  title  of  profound 
honor  and  reverence  showed  how  deeply  His  presence  had 
impressed  them),  "  where  art  thou  staying  ?" 

Where  it  was  we  do  not  know.  Perhaps  in  one  of  the 
temporary  succoih,  or  booth,  covered  at  the  top  with  the 
striped  abba,  which  is  in  the  East  an  article  of  ordinary 
wear,  and  with  their  wattled  sides  interwoven  with  green 
branches  of  terebinth  or  palm,  which  must  have  given  the 
only  shelter  possible  to  the  hundreds  who  had  flocked  to 
John's  baptism.  "He  saith  to  them.  Come  and  see." 
Again,  the  words  were  very  simple,  though  they  occur  in 
passages  of  much  significance.  Never,  however,  did  they 
produce  a  result  more  remarkable  than  now.  They  came 
and  saw  where  Jesus  dwelt,  and  as  it  was  then  four  in  the 
afternoon,  stayed  there  that  day,  and  probably  slept  there 
that  night ;  and  before  they  lay  down  to  sleep  they  knew 
and  felt  in  their  inmost  hearts  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
had  come,  that  the  hopes  of  long  centuries  were  now  ful- 
filled, that  they  had  been  in  the  presence  of  Him  who  was 
the  desire  of  all  nations,  the  Priest  greater  than  Aaron, 
the  prophet  greater  than  Moses,  the  King  greater  than 
David,  the  true  Star  of  Jacob  and  Scepter  of  Israel. 

One  of  those  two  youths  who  thus  came  earliest  to  Christ 
was  Andrew.  The  other  suppressed  his  own  name  because 
he  was  the  narrator,  the  beloved  disciple,  the  Evangelist 
St.  John.  No  wonder  that  the  smallest  details,  down 
even  to  the  very  hour  of  the  day,  were  treasured  in  his 
memory,  never  to  be  forgotten,  even  in  extreme  old  age. 

It  was  the  first  care  of  Andrew  to  find  his  brother 
Simon,  and  tell  him  of  this  great  Eureka.  He  brought 
him  to  Jesus,  and  Jesus  looking  earnestly  on  him  with 
that  royal  gaze  which  read  intuitively  the  inmost  thougiits 
— seeing  at  a  glance  in  that  simple  fisherman  all  the  weak- 


7j5  the  life  of  CHRIST. 

ness  but  also  all  the  greatness  of  the  man  —  said,  giving 
him  a  new  name,  which  was  long  afterward  yet  more 
solemnly  contirined,  "Thou  art  Simon,  the  son  of  Jona; 
thou  slialt  be  called  Kephas;"  that  is,  "  Thou  art  Simon, 
the  son  of  the  dare;  hereafter  thou  slialt  be  as  tlie  rock  in 
which  the  dove  hides."  It  was,  indeed,  a  play  upon  the 
word,  but  one  which  was  memorably  symbolic  and  pro- 
found. None  but  the  shallow  and  tiie  ignorant  will  see, 
in  such  a  play  upon  the  name,  anything  derogatory  to  the 
Saviour's  dignity.  The  essential  meaning  and  augury  of 
names  had  been  in  all  ages  a  belief  among  tlie  Jews,  whose 
very  language  was  regarded  by  themselves  as  being  no  less 
sacred  than  the  oracular  gems  on  Aaron's  breast.  Their 
belief  in  the  mystic  potency  of  sounds,  of  the  tongue 
guided  by  unalterable  destiny  in  the  realms  of  seeming 
chance,  may  seem  idle  and  superstitious  to  an  artificial  cul- 
tivation, but  has  been  shared  by  many  of  the  deepest 
thinkers  in  every  age. 

How  was  it  that  these  youths  of  Galilee,  how  was  it  that 
a  John  so  fervid  yet  contemplative,  a  Peter  so  impetuous 
in  his  affections,  yet  so  timid  in  his  resolves,  were  thus 
brought  at  once — brought,  as  it  were,  by  a  single  look,  by 
a  single  word  —  to  the  Saviour's  feet  ?  How  came  they 
thus,  by  one  flash  of  insight  or  of  inspiration,  to  recognize, 
in  the  carpenter  of  Nazareth,  the  Messiah  of  prophecy, 
the  Son  of  God,  the  Saviour  of  the  world  ? 

Doubtless  in  part  by  what  He  said,  and  by  what  John 
the  Baptist  had  testified  concerning  Him,  but  doubtless 
also  in  part  by  His  very  look.  On  this  subject,  indeed, 
tradition  has  varied  in  a  most  remarkable  manner;  but  on 
a  point  of  so  much  interest  we  may  briefly  pause. 

Any  one  who  has  studied  the  representations  of  Christ 
in  mediaeval  art  will  have  observed  that  some  of  them,  par- 
ticularly in  missals,  are  degradingly  and  repulsively 
hideous,  while  others  are  conceived  in  the  softest  and 
loveliest  ideal  of  human  beauty.  Whence  came  this  sin- 
gular divergence? 

It  came  from  the  prophetic  passages  which  were  sup- 
posed to  indicate  the  appearance  of  the  Messiah,  as  well 
as  His  life. 

The  early  Church,  accustomed  to  the  exquisite  perfection 
of  form  in  which  the  genius  of  heathen  sculpture  had  clothed 


IHK  FIRST  APOSTLES.  79 

its  conceptions  of  the  younger  gods  of  Olympus — aware, 
too,  of  the  fatal  corruptions  of  a  sensual  imagination — 
seemed  to  find  a  pleasure  in  breaking  loose  from  this 
adoration  of  personal  endowments,  and  in  taking  as  their 
ideal  of  the  bodily  aspect  of  our  Lord,  Isaiah's  pietureof 
a  patient  and  afflicted  sufferer,  or  David's  pathetic  descrip- 
tion of  a  smitten  and  wasted  outcast.  His  beauty,  says 
Clemens  of  Alexandria,  was  in  His  soul  and  in  His  actions, 
but  in  appearance  He  was  base.  Justin  Martyr  describes 
Him  as  being  without  beauty,  without  glory,  without 
honor.  ''His  body,"  says  Origen,  "was  small,  and  ill- 
shapen,  and  ignoble."  *'  His  body,"  says  TertuUian,  "  had 
no  human  handsomeiiess,  much  less  any  celestial  splendor." 
The  heathen  Celsus,  as  we  learn  from  Origen,  even  argued 
from  His  traditional  meanness  and  ugliness  of  aspect  as  a 
ground  for  rejecting  His  divine  origin.  Nay,  this  kind  of 
distorted  inference  went  to  even  greater  extremities.  The 
Vulgate  rendering  of  Isa.  liii.  4  is,  "  Nos  putavimus  eum 
quiisi  lejjrosum,  percussum  a  Deo  et  hnmiliatnm  ;"  and 
this  gave  rise  to  a  widespread  fancy  of  which  there  are 
many  traces,  that  He  who  healed  so  many  leprosies  was 
Himself  a  leper  ! 

Shocked,  on  the  other  hand,  by  these  revolting  fancies, 
there  were  many  who  held  that  Jesus,  in  His  earthly  feat- 
ures, reflected  the  charm  and  beauty  of  David,  His  great 
ancestor ;  and  St.  Jerome  and  St.  Augustine  preferred  to 
apply  to  Him  the  words  of  Psalm  xlv.  2,  3,  "  Thou  art 
fairer  than  the  children  of  men."  It  was  natural  that,  iu 
the  absence  of  positive  indications,  this  view  should  com- 
mand a  deeper  sympatliy,  and  it  gave  rise  both  to  the  cur- 
rent descriptions  of  Christ,  and  also  to  those  ideals,  so  full 
of  mingled  majesty  and  tenderness  in  : 

"That  face 
How  beautiful,  if  sorrow  had  not  made 
Sorrow  more  beautiful  thau  beauty's  self," 

which  we  see  in  the  great  pictures  of  Fra  Angelico,  of 
Michael  Angelo,  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  of  Raphael,  and  of 
Titian. 

Independently  of  all  tradition,  we  may  believe  with 
reverent  conviction  that  there  could  have  been  nothing 
mean  or  repugnant — tiuit  there  must,  as  St.  Jerome  says, 


80  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

liiive  been  "  something  starry  " — in  tlie  form  which  en- 
yhined  an  Eternal  Divinity  and  an  Infinite  Holiness. 
All  true  beauty  is  but  *'  the  sacrament  of  goodness,"  and 
a  conscience  so  stainless,  a  sj)irit  so  full  of  harmony,  a  life 
so  purely  noble,  could  not  but  express  itself  in  the  bearing, 
could  not  but  be  reflected  in  the  face,  of  the  Son  of  Man. 
We  do  not  indeed  find  any  allusion  to  this  charm  of  aspect, 
as  we  do  in  the  desci'iption  of  the  young  High-jjriest  Aris- 
tobulus  whom  Herod  murdered;  but  neither,  on  the  other 
hand,  do  we  find  in  the  language  of  His  enemies  a  single 
word  or  allusion  which  might  have  been  founded  on  an  nn- 
Avorthy  appearance.  He  of  whom  John  bore  witness  as  the 
Christ — He  whom  the  multitude  would  gladly  have  seized 
that  He  might  be  their  king — ^He  whom  the  city  saluted 
with  triumphant  shouts  as  the  Son  of  David — He  to  whom 
women  ministered  with  such  deep  devotion,  and  whose 
aspect,  even  in  the  troubled  images  of  a  dream,  had 
inspired  a  Roman  lady  with  interest  and  awe — He  whose 
mere  word  caused  Philip  and  Matthew  and  many 
others  to  leave  all  and  follow  Him  —  He  whose  one 
glance  broke  into  an  agony  of  repentance  the  heart  of 
Peter — He  before  whose  presence  those  possessed  with 
devils  were  alternately  agitated  into  frenzy  and  calmed 
into  repose,  and  at  whose  question,  in  the  very  crisis  of 
His  weakness  and  betrayal.  His  most  savage  enemies 
shrank  and  fell  prostrate  in  the  moment  of  their  most 
infuriated  wrath — such  an  One  as  this  could  not  have  been 
without  the  personal  majesty  of  a  Prophet  and  a  Priest. 
All  the  facts  of  His  life  speak  convincingly  of  that  strength, 
and  endurance,  and  dignity,  and  electi'ic  influence  which 
none  could  have  exercised  without  a  large  share  of  human, 
no  less  than  of  spiritnal,  gifts.  "  Certainly,"  says  St.  Je- 
rome, "  a  flame  of  fire  and  starry  brightness  flashed  from 
His  eye,  and  the  majesty  of  the  Godhead  shone  in  His 
face." 

The  third  day  after  the  return  from  the  wilderness 
seems  to  have  been  spent  by  Jesus  in  intercourse  with  His 
new  disciples.  On  the  fourth  day  He  wished  to  start  for 
]Iis  return  to  Galilee,  and  on  the  journey  fell  in  with  an- 
other young  fisherman,  Philip  of  liethsaida.  Alone  of  the 
apostles  Philip  had  a  Greek  name,  derived,  perhaps, 
from    the   tetrarch    Philip,  since   the    custom  of    naming 


THE  FIRST  APOSTLES.  81 

children  after  reigning  princes  has  always  been  a  common 
one.  If  so,  he  mnst  at  this  time  have  been  nnder  thirty. 
Possibly  his  Greek  name  indicates  his  familiarity  with 
some  of  the  Greek-speaking  population  who  lived  mingled 
with  the  Galilaeans  on  the  shores  of  Geiniesareth;  and  this 
may  account  for  the  fact  that  he,  rather  tlian  any  of  the 
other  Apostles,  was  appealed  to  by  the  Greeks  who,  in  the 
last  week  of  His  life,  wished  to  see  our  Lord.  One  word — 
the  one  pregnant  invitation,  "  FolMo  me!''  was  sufh- 
cient  to  attach  to  Jesus  forever  the  gentle  and  simple- 
minded  Apostle,  whom  in  all  probabilty  he  had  previously 
known. 

The  next  day  a  fifth  neophyte  was  added  to  that  sacred 
and  happy  band.  Eager  to  communicate  the  rich  discov- 
ery which  he  had  made,  Philip  sought  out  his  friend  Na- 
thanael,  exercising  thereby  the  divinest  prerogative  of 
friendship,  which  consists  in  the  communication  to  others 
of  all  that  we  have  ourselves  experienced  to  be  most  divine. 
Nathanael,  in  the  list  of  Apostles,  is  generally,  and  almost 
indubitably,  identified  with  Bartholomew;  for  Bartholo- 
mew is  less  a  name  than  a  designation — "  Bar-Tolmai,  the 
son  of  Tolmai,"  and  while  Nathanael  is  only  in  one  other 
place  mentioned  under  this  name  (John  xxi.  2),  Bartholo- 
mew (of  whom,  on  any  other  supposition,  we  should  know 
nothing  whatever)  is,  in  the  list  of  Apostles,  almost  invari- 
ably associated  with  Philip.  As  his  home  was  at  Cana  of 
Galilee,  the  son  of  Tolmai  might  easily  have  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  young  fisherman  of  Gennesareth.  And 
yet  so  deep  was  the  retirement  in  which  up  to  this  time 
Jesus  had  lived  His  life,  that  though  Nathanael  knew 
Philip,  he  knew  nothing  of  Christ.  The  simple  mind  of 
Philip  seemed  to  find  a  pleasure  in  contrasting  the  gran- 
deur of  His  office  with  the  meanness  of  His  birth  :  ''  We 
have  found  Him  of  whom  Moses  in  the  Law,  and  the 
Prophets,  did  write  ',"  whom  think  you  ? — a  young  Hero- 
dian  Prince  ? — a  young  Asnionfean  priest? — some  burning 
light  from  the  schools  of  Shammai  or  Hillel? — some  pas- 
sionate young  Emir  from  the  followers  of  Judas  of  Ga- 
mala? — no,  but  "Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  son  of  Joseph." 

Nathaniel  seems  to  have  felt  the  contrast.  He  caught 
at  the  local  designation.  It  may  be,  as  legend  says,  that 
he  was  a  man  of  higher  position  than  the  rest  of  the  Apos- 


83  TUE  LIFE  OF  CnRTST. 

ties.  It  luis  been  iisiuilly  considered  that  his  answer  Wiis 
proverbiiil;  but  perliaps  it  was  a  passing  aUnsion  to  tlie 
word  nazora,  '-  dosi)icable;'"  or  it  may  merely  have  implied 
"'  Nazari'ih,  that  obscure  and  ill-reputed  town  in  its  little 
untrodden  valley — can  anything  good  come  from  thence  f 
The  answer  is  in  the  same  words  which  our  Lord  had  ad- 
dressed to  John  and  Andrew.  Philip  was  an  apt  scholar, 
and  he  too  said,  ''  Come  and  see." 

To-day,  too,  that  question — "  Can  any  good  thing  come 
out  of  'Xazaretli?" — is  often  repeated,  and  the  one  suffi- 
cient answer — almost  the  only  possible  answer — is  now,  as 
it  then  was,  "Come  and  see."  Then  it  meant,  come  and 
see  One  who  speaks  as  never  man  spake;  come  and  see  One 
who,  though  He  be  but  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth,  yet 
overawes  the  souls  of  all  who  approach  Him — seeming  by 
His  mere  presence  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  all  hearts,  yet 
drawing  to  Him  even  the  most  sinful  with  a  sense  of  yearn- 
ing love  ;  come  and  see  One  from  whom  there  seems  to 
breathe  forth  the  irresistible  charm  of  a  sinless  purity,  the 
unapproachable  beauty  of  a  Divine  life.  ''Come  and  see," 
said  Philip,  convinced  in  his  simple  faithful  heart  that  to 
see  Jesus  was  to  know  Him,  and  to  know  was  to  love,  ai\d 
to  love  was  to  adore.  In  this  sense,  indeed,  we  can  say 
''come  and  see"  no  longer;  for  since  the  blue  heavens 
closed  on  the  visions  which  were  vouchsafed  to  St.  Stephen 
and  St.  Paul,  His  earthly  form  has  been  visible  no  more. 
But  there  is  another  sense,  no  less  powerful  for  conviction, 
in  which  it  still  suffices  to  say,  in  answer  to  all  doubts, 
*'  Come  and  see."  Come  and  see  a  dying  world  revivified, 
a  decrepit  world  regenerated,  an  aged  world  rejuvenescent; 
come  and  see  the  darkness  illuminated,  the  despair  dis- 
pelled; come  and  see  tenderness  brought  into  the  cell  of  the 
imprisoned  felon,  and  liberty  to  the  fettered  slave  ;  come 
and  see  the  poor,  and  the  ignorant,  and  the  many,  eman- 
cipated forever  from  the  intolerable  thraldom  of  the  rich, 
the  learned,  and  the  few  ;  come  and  see  hospitals  and 
orphanages  rising  in  their  permanent  mercy  beside  the 
crumbling  ruins  of  colossal  amphitheaters  which  once 
reeked  with  human  blood  ;  come  and  seethe  obscene  sym- 
bols of  an  universal  degradation  obliterated  indignantly 
from  the  purified  abodes  ;  come  and  see  the  dens  of  lust 
and  tyranny  transformed  into  sweet  and  happy  homes,  de- 


THE  FIRST  APOSTLES.  83 

fiant  atheists  into  believing  Christians,  rebels  into  children, 
and  pagans  into  saints.  Ay,  come  and  see  the  majestic 
acts  of  one  great  drama  continued  tlirough  nineteen  Chris- 
tian centuries;  and  as  you  see  them  all  tending  to  one 
great  development,  long  predetermined  in  the  Council  of 
the  Divine  Will — as  you  learn  in  reverent  humility  that 
even  apparent  Chance  is  in  reality  the  dauyhter  of  Fore- 
thought, as  well  as,  for  those  who  thus  recognize  her 
nature,  the  sister  of  Order  and  Pers^iasion — as  you  hear 
the  voice  of  your  Saviour  searching,  with  the  loving  accents 
of  a  compassion  which  will  neither  strive  nor  cry,  your  very 
reins  and  heart — it  may  be  that  you  too  will  unlearn  the 
misery  of  doubt,  and  exclaim  in  calm  and  happy  confi- 
dence, with  the  pure  and  candid  Nathanael,  "Rabbi,  thou 
art  the  Son  of  God,  thou  art  the  King  of  Israel!" 

The  fastidious  reluctance  of  Nathanael  was  very  soon 
dispelled.  Jesus,  as  He  saw  him  coming,  recognized  that 
the  seal  of  God  was  upon  his  forehead,  and  said  of  him, 
"  Behold  a  true  Israelite,  in  whom  guile  is  not."  "  Whence 
dost  thou  recognize  me  ? "  asked  Nathanael,  and  then 
came  that  heart-searching  answer,  "Before  that  Philip 
called  thee,  whilst  thou  wert  under  the  fig-tree,  I  saw 
thee." 

It  was  the  custom  of  pious  Jews — a  custom  approved  by 
the  Talmud — to  study  their  crishma,  or  office  of  daily 
prayer,  under  a  fig-tree  ;  and  some  have  imagined  that 
there  is  something  significant  in  the  fact  of  the  Apostle 
having  been  summoned  from  the  shade  of  a  tree  which 
symbolized  Jewish  ordinances  and  Jewish  traditions,  but 
which  was  beginning  already  to  cumber  the  ground.  But 
though  something  interesting  and  instructive  may  often  be 
derived  from  the  poetic  insight  of  a  chastened  imagination, 
which  can  thus  observe  allegories  which  lie  involved  in  the 
simplest  facts,  yet  no  such  flash  of  sudden  perception  could 
alone  have  accounted  for  the  agitated  intensity  of  Nathan- 
ael's  reply.  Every  one  must  have  been  struck  at  first 
sight  with  the  apparent  disproportionateness  between  the 
cause  and  the  effect.  How  apparently  inadequate  was  that 
quiet  allusion  to  the  lonely  session  of  silent  thought  under 
the  fig-tree,  to  produce  the  instantaneous  adhesion,  the 
henceforth  inalienable  loyalty,  of  this  "  fusile  Apostle  "  to 
the  Son  of   God,  the   King  of  Israel  !     But  for  the  true 


j^4  THE  IJFE  OF  CERTST. 

rxplanation  of  tliis  iiistantainoty  of  conviction,  we  must 
look  (locpor;  and  then,  if  1  mistake  not,  we  shall  sec  in  this 
iiK'itlont  another  of  those  indescribable  touches  of  reality 
which  have  been  to  so  many  ])owerful  minds  the  most  irre- 
sistible internal  evidence  to  establish  the  historic  truthful- 
ness of  the  Fourth  Gospel. 

There  are  moments  when  the  grace  of  God  stirs  sensibly 
in  the  human  heart ;  when  the  soul  seems  to  rise  upon  the 
eagle-wings  of  hope  and  prayer  into  the  heaven  of  heavens; 
when  caught  up,  as  it  were,  into  God's  very  presence,  we 
see  and  hear  things  unspeakable.  At  such  moments  we 
live  a  lifetime  ;  for  emotions  such  as  these  annihilate  all 
time;  they — 

"  Crowd  Eternity  into  an  hour, 
Or  stretch  an  hour  into  Eternity." 

At  such  moments  we  are  nearer  to  God  ;  we  seem  to  know 
Him  and  be  known  of  Him  ;  and  if  it  were  possible  for 
any  man  at  such  a  moment  to  see  into  our  souls,  he  would 
know  all  that  is  greatest  and  most  immortal  in  our  beings. 
But  to  see  us  then  is  impossible  to  man;  it  is  possible  only 
to  Him  whose  hand  should  lead,  whose  right  hand  should 
guide  us,  even  if  we  could  take  the  wings  of  the  morning 
and  fly  into  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea.  And  such  a 
crisis  of  emotion  must  the  guileless  Israelite  have  known 
as  he  sat  and  prayed  and  mused  in  silence  under  his  fig- 
tree.  To  the  consciousness  of  such  a  crisis — a  crisis  which 
could  only  be  known  to  One  to  whom  it  was  given  to  read 
the  very  secrets  of  the  heart  —  our  Lord  appealed.  Let 
him  who  has  had  a  similar  experience  say  how  he  would 
regard  a  living  man  who  could  reveal  to  him  that  he  had 
at  such  a  moment  looked  into  and  fathomed  the  emotions 
of  his  heart.  That  such  solitary  musings — such  penetrat- 
ing, even  in  this  life,  ''behind  the  veil" — such  raptures 
into  the  third  heaven  during  which  the  soul  strives 
to  transcend  the  limitations  of  space  and  time  while  it 
communes,  face  to  face,  with  the  Eternal  and  the  Unseen 
— such  sudden  kindlings  of  celestial  lightning  which  seem 
to  have  fused  all  that  is  meanest  and  basest  within  us  in 
an  instant  and  forever  —  that  these  supreme  crises  are 
among  the  recorded  experiences  of  the  Christian  life,  rests 
upon  indisputable  evidence  of  testimony  and  of  fact.    And 


THE  FIRST  MIRACLE,  •  85 

if  any  one  of  my  readers  has  ever  known  this  spasm 
of  divine  change  which  annihilates  the  old  and  in  the  same 
moment  creates  or  re-creates  a  new-born  soul,  such  a  one, 
at  least,  will  understand  the  thrill  of  electric  sympathy, 
the  arrow-point  of  intense  conviction  that  shot  that  very 
instant  through  the  heart  of  Nathanael,  and  brought  him, 
as  it  were,  at  once  upon  his  knees  with  the  exclamation, 
"  Rahbi,  Thou  art  the  Sun  of  God,  Thou  art  the  King  of 
Israel !  " 

We  scarcely  hear  of  Nathanael  again.  His  seems  to 
have  been  one  of  those  calm,  retiring,  contemplative  souls, 
whose  whole  sphere  of  existence  lies  not  here,  but  — 

' '  Where,  beyond  these  voices,  there  is  peace. " 

It  was  a  life  of  which  the  world  sees  nothing,  because  it 
was  *'  hid  with  Christ  in  God  ;  "  but  of  this  we  may  be 
sure,  that  never  till  the  day  of  his  martyrdom,  or  even 
during  his  martyr  agonies,  did  he  forget  those  quiet  words 
which  showed  that  his  •'  Lord  had  searched  him  out  and 
known  him,  and  comprehended  his  thoughts  long  before." 
Not  once,  doubtless,  but  on  many  and  many  a  future  day, 
was  the  promise  fulfilled  for  him  and  for  his  companions, 
that,  with  the  eye  of  faith,  they  should  "  see  the  heavens 
opened,  and  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  descending 
upon  the  Son  of  Man." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   FIEST   MIRACLE. 

"  On  the  third  day,"  says  St.  John,  ■"  there  was  a  mar- 
riage in  Cana  of  Galilee."  Writing  with  a  full  knowledge 
and  vivid  recollection  of  every  fact  that  took  place  during 
those  divinely  memorable  days,  he  gives  his  indications  of 
time  as  though  all  were  equally  familiar  with  them.  The 
third  day  has  been  understood  in  ditferent  manners  :  it  is 
simplest  to  understand  it  as  the  third  after  the  departure 
of  Jesus  for  Galilee.  If  He  were  traveling  expeditiously 
He  might  stop  on  tlie  first  night  (supposing  him  to  follow 
the  ordinary  route)  at  Shiloh  or  at  Shechem  ;  on  the 
second  at  En-Gannim  ;  on  the  third,  crossing  the  plain  of 


8(i  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Jezreel,  He  could  easily  reach  Nazareth,  and  finding  that 
His  mother  and  brethren  were  not  there,  might,  in  an  hour 
and  a  half  longer,  reach  Cana  in  time  for  the  ceremonies 
of  an  Oriental  wedding. 

It  is  well  known  tliat  those  ceremonies  began  at  twi- 
light.    It  was  the   custom  in  Palestine,  no  less  than  in 

Greece. 

"  To  bear  away 
The  bride  from  borne  at  blushing  shut  of  day," 

or  even  later,  far  on  into  the  night,  covered  from  head  to 
foot  in  her  loose  and  flowing  veil,  garlanded  with  flowers,  and 
dressed  in  her  fairest  robes.  She  was  heralded  by  torch- 
light, with  songs  and  dances,  and  the  music  of  the  drum 
and  flute,  to  the  bridegroom's  home.  She  was  attended  by 
the  maidens  of  her  village,  and  the  bridegroom  came  to 
meet  her  witli  his  youthful  friends.  Legend  says  that 
Nathanael  was  on  this  occasion  the  paranymph  whose  duty 
it  was  to  escort  the  bride  ;  but  the  presence  of  Mary,  who 
must  have  left  Nazareth  on  purpose  to  be  present  at  tlie 
wedding,  seems  to  show  that  one  of  tlie  bridal  pair  was 
some  member  of  the  Holy  Family.  Jesus  too  was  invited, 
and  His  disciples,  and  tlie  use  of  the  singular  {kHXr/Br/) 
implies  that  they  were  invited  for  flissake,  not  He  for  theirs. 
It  is  not  likely,  therefore,  tiiat  NaLhanael,  wiio  had  only 
heard  the  name  of  Jesus  two  days  before,  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  marriage.  All  positive  conjecture  is  idle;  but 
the  fact  that  the  Virgin  evidently  took  a  leading  position 
in  the  house,  and  commands  the  servants  in  a  tone  of 
authority,  renders  it  not  improbable  that  this  may  have 
been  the  wedding  of  one  of  her  nephews,  the  sons  of 
Alphaeus,  or  even  of  one  of  her  daugliters,  "  the  sisters  of 
Jesus,"  to  whom  tradition  gives  the  names  Esther  and 
Thamar.  That  Joseph  himself  was  dead  is  evident  from 
the  complete  silence  of  the  Evangelists,  who  after  Christ's 
first  visit  to  Jerusalem  as  a  boy,  make  no  further  mention 
of  his  name. 

Whether  the  marriage  festival  lasted  for  seven  days,  as 
was  usual  among  tliose  wlio  could  afford  it,  or  oidy  for  one 
or  two,  as  was  the  case  among  the  poorer  classes,  we  can- 
not tell  ;  but  at  some  period  of  the  entertiunuieut  the  wine 
sudden!  V  ran  short.  None  but  tlioso  who  know  how  sacred 
in  the  East  is  the  duty  of  lavisii  hospitality,  and  how  pas- 


THE  FIRST  MIRACLE.  87 

siouately  the  obligation  to  exercise  it  to  the  utmost  is  felt, 
can  realize  the  gloom  which  this  incident  would  have 
thrown  over  the  occasion,  or  the  misery  and  mortification 
which  it  would  have  caused  to  the  wedded  pair.  They 
would  have  felt  it  to  be,  as  in  the  East  it  would  still  be 
felt  to  be,  a  bitter  and  indelible  disgrace. 

Now  the  presence  of  Jesus  and  his  five  disciples  may 
well  have  been  the  cause  of  this  unexpected  deficiency.  The 
invitation,  as  we  have  seen,  was  originally  intended  for 
Jesus  alone,  nor  could  the  youthful  bridegroom  in  Cana  of 
Galilee  have  been  in  the  least  aware  that  during  the  last 
four  days  Jesus  had  won  the  allegiance  of  five  disciples. 
It  is  probable  that  no  provision  had  been  made  for  this 
increase  of  numbers,  and  that  it  Avas  their  unexpected 
presence  which  caused  the  deficiency  in  this  simple  house- 
hold. Moreover,  it  is  hardly  probable  that,  coming  from 
a  hasty  journey  of  ninety  m"iles,  the  little  band  could,  even 
had  their  means  permitted  it,  have  conformed  to  the  com- 
mon Jewish  custom  of  bringing  with  them  wine  and  other 
provisions  to  contribute  to  the  mirthf ulness  of  the  wedding 
feast. 

Under  these  circumstances,  therefore,  there  was  a  special 
reason  why  the  mother  of  Jesus  should  say  to  Him, 
"  They  have  no  wine."  The  remark  was  evidently  a 
pointed  one,  and  its  import  could  not  be  misunderstood. 
None  knew,  as  Mary  knew,  who  her  Son  was  ;  yet  _  for 
thirty  long  years  of  patient  waiting  for  this  manifestation, 
she  had  but' seen  Him  grow  as  other  children  grow,  and 
live,  in  sweetness  indeed  and  humility  and  grace  of  sinless 
wisdom,  like  a  tender  plant  before  God,  but  in  all  other 
respects  as  other  youths  have  lived,  pre-eminent  only  in 
utter  stainlessness.  But  now  He  was  thirty  yeais  old  ;  the 
voice  of  the  great  Prophet,  with  whose  fame  the_  nation 
rang,  had  proclaimed  Him  to  be  the  promised  Christ ;  He 
was  being  publiclv  attended  by  disciples  who  acknowledged 
Him  as  Rabbi  and  Lord.  Here  was  a  difficulty  to  be  met ; 
an  act  of  true  kindness  to  be  performed  ;  a  disgrace  to  be 
averted  from  friends  whom  He  loved — and  that  too  a  dis- 
grace to  which  His  own  presence  and  that  of  His  disciples 
had  unwittingly  contributed.  Was  not  His  hour  yet 
come?  Who  could  tell  what  He  might  do,  if  He  were 
only  made  aware  of  the  trouble  which  threatened  to  inter- 


88  TUE  LIFE  OF  CUlilST. 

rupt  the  feast  ?  Might  not  some  band  of  hymning  angels, 
like  the  radiant  visions,  wlio  had  heralded  His  birth, 
receive  His  bidding  to  change  tliat  liumble  marriage-feast 
into  a  scene  of  lieaven  ?  flight  it  not  be  that  even  now 
He  would  lead  them  into  His  banquet-house,  and  His 
banner  over  them  be  love  ? 

11  or  faith  was  strong,  her  motives  pure,  except  perhaps 
what  has  been  called  "  the  slightest  possible  touch  of  tiie 
purest  womanly,  motherly  anxiety  (we  know  no  other 
word)  prompting  in  her  the  desire  to  see  Iter  Son  honored  in 
her  presence."  And  her  Son's  hour  ?iad  nearly  come  :  but 
it  was  necessary  now,  at  once,  forever,  for  that  8on  to  show 
to  her  that  lienceforth  he  was  not  Jesus  the  Son  of  Mary,  but 
the  Christ  the  Son  of  God  ;  that  as  regarded  His  great 
work  and  mission,  as  regarded  His  Eternal  Being,  the 
significance  of  the  beautiful  relationship  had  passed  away  ; 
that  His  thoughts  were  not  as  her  thoughts,  neither  His 
ways  her  ways.  It  could  not  have  been  done  in  a  manner 
more  decisive,  yet  at  the  same  time  more  entirely  tender. 

"  Woman,  what  have  1  to  do  witli  tltee  f  The  words  at 
first  sound  harsli,  and  almost  repellent  in  their  roughness 
and  brevity  ;  but  that  is  the  fault  partly  of  our  version, 
partly  of  our  associations.  He  does  not  call  her  "  mother," 
because,  in  circumstances  such  as  these,  slie  was  His 
mother  no  longer;  but  the  address  "  Wonifin "  {Tvvai) 
was  so  respectful  that  it  might  be,  and  was,  addressed  to 
the  queenliest,  and  so  gentle  that  it  might  be,  and  was, 
addressed  at  the  tenderest  moments  to  the  most  fondly 
loved.  And  "  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ?"  is  a  literal 
version  of  a  common  Aramaic  phrase  {mah  li  veldk), 
which,  while  it  sets  aside  a  suggestion  and  waives  all 
further  discussion  of  it,  is  yet  perfectly  consistent  with 
the  most  delicate  courtesy  and  the  most  feeling  considera- 
tion. 

Nor  can  we  doubt  that  even  the  slight  check  involved  in 
these  quiet  words  was  still  more  softened  by  the  look  and 
accent  with  which  they  were  spoken,  and  which  are  often 
sufficient  to  prevent  far  harsher  utterances  from  inflicting 
any  pain.  For  witli  undiminished  faith,  and  vvitli  no  trace 
of  pained  feeling,  Mary  said  to  the  servants— over  whom 
it  is  clear  she  was  exercising  some  authority — "  Whatever 
He  says  to  you,  do  it  at  once." 


THE  FIRST  MIRACLE.  89 

The  first  necessity  after  a  Journey  in  the  East  is  to  wash 
the  feet,  and  before  a  meal  to  wash  the  hands ;  and  to 
supply  these  wants  there  were  standing  (as  still  is  usual), 
near  the  entrance  of  the  house,  six  large  stone  water-jars, 
with  their  orifices  filled  with  bunches  of  fresh  green  leaves 
to  keep  the  water  cool.  Each  of  these  jars  contained  two 
or  three  baths  of  water,  and  Jesus  bade  the  servants  at 
once  fill  them  to  the  brim.  They  did  so,  and  He  then 
ordered  them  to  draw  out  the  contents  in  smaller  vessels, 
and  carry  it  to  the  guest  who,  according  to  the  festive 
custom  of  the  time,  had  been  elected  "governor  of  the 
feast."  Knowing  nothing  of  what  had  taken  place,  he 
mirthfully  observed  that  in  offering  the  good  wine  last,  the 
bridegroom  had  violated  the  common  practice  of  banquets. 
This  was  Christ's  first  miracle,  and  tints,  with  a  definite 
and  symbolic  purpose,  did  He  manifest  His  glory,  and  His 
disciples  believed  on  Him. 

It  was  His  first  miracle,  yet  how  unlike  all  that  we 
should  have  expected  ;  how  simply  unobtrusive,  how 
divinely  calm  !  The  method,  indeed,  of  the  miracle — 
which  is  far  more  wonderful  in  character  than  the  ordi- 
nary miracles  of  healing — ^transcends  our  powers  of  con- 
ception ;  yet  it  was  not  done  with  any  pomp  of  circum- 
stance, or  blaze  of  adventitious  glorification.  Men  ia 
these  days  have  presumptuously  talked  as  though  it  were 
God's  duty — the  duty  of  Him  to  whom  the  sea  and  the  mount- 
ains are  a  very  little  thing,  and  before  whose  eyes  the 
starry  heaven  is  but  as  one  white  gleam  in  the  '*  intense 
inane  " — to  perform  His  miracles  before  a  circle  of  com- 
petent 6'at'«;w  /  Conceivably  it  might  be  so  had  it  been 
intended  that  miracles  should  be  the  sole,  or  even  the  main, 
credentials,  of  Christ's  authority  ;  but  to  the  belief  of 
Christendom  the  son  of  God  would  still  be  the  Son  of  God 
even  if,  like  John,  He  had  done  no  miracle.  The  miracles 
of  Christ  were  miracles  addressed,  not  to  a  cold  and 
sceptic  curiosity,  but  to  a  loving  and  humble  faith.  They 
needed  not  the  acuteness  of  the  impostor,  or  the  self- 
assertion  of  the  thaumaturge.  They  were  indeed  the 
signs  —  almost,  we  had  said,  the  accidental  signs — of 
His  divine  mission;  but  their  primary  object  was  the 
alleviation  of  human  suffering,  or  the  illustration  of 
sacred  truths,  or,  as  in  this  instance,  the  increase  of  iuno- 


90  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

cent  joy.  An  obscure  village,  an  ordinary  wedding,  a 
humble  home,  a  few  faithful  peasant  guests — such  a  scene, 
and  no  splendid  amphitheater  or  stately  audience,  beheld 
one  of  Christ's  greatest  miracles  of  power.  And  in  these 
respects  the  circumstances  of  the  First  Miracle  are  exactly 
analogous  to  the  su[)ernatural  -events  recorded  of  Christ's 
birth.  In  the  total  unliketiess  of  this  to  all  that  we  should 
have  imagined — in  its  absolute  contrast  with  anytliing 
which  legend  would  have  invented — in  all,  in  short,  which 
most  offends  tlie  unbeliever,  we  see  but  fresh  confirmation 
that  we  are  reading  the  words  of  soberness  and  truth. 

A  miracle  is  a  miracle,  and  we  see  no  possible  advantage 
in  trying  to  understand  i\\emeans  by  which  it  was  wrought. 
In  accepting  the  evidence  for  it — as  it  is  for  each  man  to 
be  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind,  and  to  accept  or  reject 
at  his  pleasure,  perhaps  even  it  may  prove  to  "be  at  his 
peril — we  are  avowedly  accepting  the  evidence  for  some- 
thing which  transcends,  though  it  by  no  means  necessarily 
supersedes,  the  ordinary  laws  by  which  Nature  works, 
AVhat  is  gained — in  what  single  respect  does  the  miracle 
become,  so  to  speak,  easier  or  more  comprehensible — by 
supposing,  with  Olsliausen,  that  we  have  here  ordy  an  ac- 
celerated process  of  nature;  or  with  Neander  (apparently), 
that  the  water  was  magnetized  ;  or  with  Lange  (appar- 
ently), that  the  guests  were  in  a  state  of  supernatural  exal- 
tation? Let  those  who  find  it  intellectually  possible,  or 
spiritually  advantageous,  freely  avail  themselves  of  such 
hypotheses  if  they  see  their  way  to  do  so:  to  us  they  seem, 
not  "  irreverent,"  not  "rationalistic,"  not  ''dangerous," 
but  simply  embarrassing  and  needless.  To  denounce  them 
as  unfaithful  concessions  to  the  spirit  of  scepticism  may 
suit  the  exigencies  of  a  violent  and  Pharisaic  theology,  but 
is  unworthy  of  that  calm  charity  which  should  be  the 
fairest  fruit  of  Christian  faith.  In  matters  of  faith  it 
ought  to  be  to  every  one  of  us  "  a  very  small  thing  to  be 
judged  of  you  or  of  man's  judgment;"  we  ought  to  believe, 
or  disbelieve,  or  modify  belief,  with  sole  reference  to  that 
which,  in  our  hearts  and  consciences,  we  feel  to  be  the  will 
of  God;  and  it  is  by  His  judgment,  and  hy  His  alone,  that 
we  should  care  to  stand  or  to  fall.  We  as  little  claim  a 
right  to  scathe  the  rejector  of  miracles  by  abuse  and  anath- 
ema, as  we  admit  his  right  to  sneer  at  us  for  imbecilitv  or 


THE  FIRST  MIRACLE.  91 

hypocrisy.  Jesus  has  taught  to  all  men,  whether  they  ac- 
cept or  reject  Him,  the  lessons  of  charity  and  sweetness;  and 
what  tiie  believer  and  the  unbeliever  alike  can  do,  is  calmly, 
temperately,  justly,  and  with  perfect  and  solemn  sincerity 
— knowing  how  deep  are  the  feelings  involved,  and  how 
vast  the  issues  at  stake  between  us — to  state  the  reason  for 
the  belief  that  is  in  him.  And  this  being  so,  I  would  say 
that  if  we  once  understand  tiiat  the  word  Nature  has  little 
or  no  meaning  unless  it  be  made  to  include  the  idea  of  its 
Author ;  if  we  once  realize  the  fact,  which  all  science 
teaches  us,  that  the  very  simplest  and  most  elementary 
operation  of  the  laws  of  Nature  is  infinitely  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  our  most  exalted  intelligence;  if  we  once 
believe  that  the  Divine  Providence  of  God  is  no  far-off  ab- 
straction; but  a  living  and  loving  care  over  the  lives  of  men; 
lastly,  if  we  once  believe  that  Christ  was  the  only-begotten 
Son  of  God,  the  Word  of  God,  who  came  to  reveal  and 
declare  His  Father  to  mankind,  then  there  is  nothing  in 
any  Gospel  miracle  to  shock  our  faith:  we  shall  regai'd  the 
miracles  of  Christ  as  resulting  from  the  fact  of  His  Being 
and  His  mission,  no  less  naturally  and  inevitably  than  the 
rays  of  light  stream  outward  from  the  sun.  They  were, 
to  use  the  favorite  expression  of  St.  John,  not  merely 
"portents"  {rspara),  OX  powers  {SwduEn),  or  signs 
{6rjnE7a),  but  they  were  works  {epXa),  the  ordinary  and 
inevitable  works  (whenever  He  chose  to  exercise  them)  of 
One  whose  very  existence  was  the  highest  miracle  of  all. 
For  our  faith  is  that  He  was  sinless  ;  and  to  borrow  the 
words  of  a  German  poet,  "one  might  have  thought  that 
the  miracle  of  mii-acles  was  to  have  created  the  world  such 
as  it  is;  yet  it  is  afar  greater  miracle  to  have  lived  a  perfectly 
pure  life  therein."  Thegreatest  of  modern  philosophers  said 
that  there  were  two  things  which  overwhelmed  his  soul 
with  awe  and  astonishment,  "  the  starry  heaven  above,  and 
the  moral  law  within;"  but  to  these  has  been  added  a 
third  reality  no  less  majestic — the  fulfillment  of  the  moi'al 
law  witJ/ont  us  in  the  Person  of  Jesus  Christ.  That  fulfill- 
ment makes  ns  believe  that  he  was  indeed  Divine,  and  if 
He  were  Divine,  we  liave  no  further  astonishment  left  when 
we  are  taught  that  He  did  on  earth  that  which  can  be 
done  by  the  Power  of  (iod  alone. 

But  there  are  two  characteristics  of  this    first   miracle 
which  we  ought  to  notice. 


92  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

One  is  its  divine  unselfisliness.  His  ministry  is  to  be  a 
ministry  of  joy  and  pence  ;  His  sanction  is  to  be  given 
not  to  a  crushing  asceticism,  but  to  a  genial  innocence  ; 
llis  approval,  not  to  a  compulsory  celibacy,  but  to  a  sacred 
union.  He  who,  to  appease  His  own  sore  hunger,  would 
not  turn  the  stones  of  the  wilderness  into  bread,  gladly 
exercises,  for  the  sake  of  others.  His  transforming  power  ; 
and  but  six  or  seven  days  afterward,  relieves  the  perplexity 
and  sorrow  of  a  humble  M'edding  feast  by  turning  water 
into  wine.  The  first  miracle  of  Moses  was,  in  stern 
reti'ibution,  to  turn  the  river  of  a  guilty  nation  into  blood; 
the  first  of  Jesus  to  fill  the  water-jars  of  an  innocent 
family  with  wine. 

And  the  other  is  its  symbolic  character.  Like  nearly  all 
the  miracles  of  Christ,  it  combines  the  characteristics  of 
a  work  of  meicy,  an  emblem,  and  a  prophecy.  The  world 
gives  its  best  first,  and  afterward  all  the  dregs  and  bitter- 
ness; but  Christ  came  to  turn  the  lower  into  the  richer 
and  sweeter,  the  Mosaic  law  into  the  perfect  law  of  liberty, 
the  baptism  of  John  into  the  baptism  with  the  Holy 
Giiost  and  with  fii'e,  the  self-denials  of  a  ^^ainful  isolation 
into  the  self-denials  of  a  happy  home,  sorrow  and  sighing 
into  hope  and  blessing,  and  water  into  wine.  And  thus 
the  "holy  estate"  which  Christ  adorned  and  beautified 
with  His  presence  and  first  miracle  in  Cana  of  Galilee, 
foreshadows  the  mystical  union  between  Christ  and  His 
Church  ;  and  the  common  element  which  he  thus  mirac- 
ulously changed  becomes  a  type  of  our  life  on  earth  trans- 
figured and  ennobled  by  the  anticipated  joys  of  heaven — a 
type  of  that  wine  which  He  shall  drink  new  with  us  in  the 
kingdom  of  God,  at  the  marriage  supper  of  the  Lamb. 


CHAPTEE  Xn. 

THE   SCENE   OF   THE   MINISTRY. 

Christ's  first  miracle  of  Cana  was  a  sign  that  He  came, 
not  to  call  his  disciples  out  of  the  world  and  its  ordinary 
duties,  but  to  make  men  happier,  nobler,  better  in  the 
world.  He  willed  that  they  should  be  husbands,  and 
fathers,  and  citizens,  not  eremites  or  monks.     He  would 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  MINISTRY.  93 

show  that  he  approved  the  brightness  of  pure  society,  and 
the  mirth  of  innocent  gatherings,  no  less  than  the 
ecstasies  of  the  ascetic  in  the  wilderness,  or  the  visions  of 
the  mystic  in  his  solitary  cell. 

And,  as  pointing  the  same  moral,  there  was  something 
significant  in  the  place  which  He  chose  as  the  scene  of 
His  earliest  ministry.  St.  John  had  preached  in  the  lonely 
wastes  by  the  Dead  Sea  waters;  his  voice  had  been  echoed 
back  by  the  flinty  precipices  that  frown  over  the  sultry  Ghor. 
The  city  nearest  to  the  scene  of  His  teaching  had  been 
built  in  defiance  of  a  curse,  and  the  road  to  it  led  through 
"  the  bloody  way."  All  around  him  breathed  the  dreadful 
associations  of  a  guilty  and  desolated  past;  the  very 
waves  were  bituminous ;  the  very  fruits  crumbled  into 
foul  ashes  under  the  touch  ;  the  very  dust  beneath  his  feet 
lay,  hot  and  white,  over  the  relics  of  an  abominable  race. 
There,  beside  those  leaden  waters,  under  that  copper 
heaven,  amid  those  burning  wildernesses  and  scarred 
ravines,  had  he  preached  the  baptism  of  repentance.  But 
Christ,  amid  the  joyous  band  of  His  mother,  and  His 
brethern,  and  His  disciples,  chose  as  tlie  earliest  center  of 
His  ministry  a  bright  and  busy  city,  whose  marble  buildings 
were  mirrored  in  a  limpid  sea. 

That  little  city  was  Capernaum.  It  rose  under  the 
gentle  declivities  of  hills  that  encircled  an  earthly  Para- 
dise. There  were  no  such  trees,  and  no  such  gardens, 
anywhere  in  Palestine  as  in  the  land  of  Gennesareth.  The 
very  name  means  "garden  of  abundance,"'  and  the  num- 
berless flowers  blossom  over  a  little  plain  which  is  "in 
sight  like  unto  an  emerald,"  It  was  doubtless  a  part  of 
Christ's  divine  plan  that  His  ministry  should  begin  amid 
scenes  so  beautiful,  and  that  the  good  tidings,  which 
revealed  to  mankind  their  loftiest  hopes  and  purest 
pleasures,  should  be  first  proclaimed  in  a  region  of  unusual 
loveliness.  The  features  of  the  scene  are  neither  gorgeous 
nor  colossal;  there  is  nothing  here  of  the  mountain  gloom 
or  tlie  mountain  glory;  nothing  of  that  "dread  magnifi- 
cence "  which  overawes  us  as  we  gaze  on  the  icy  precipices 
of  tropical  volcanoes,  or  the  icy  precipices  of  northern 
liills.  Had  our  life  on  earth  been  full  of  wild  and  terrible 
catastrophes,  then  it  might  have  been  fitly  symbolized  by 
scenes  which  told  only  of  deluge  and  conflagration;  but 


94  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

these  green  pastures  and  still  waters,  these  bright  birds 
and  iloworing  oleanders,  the  dimpling  surface  of  that 
inland  sea,  so  doubly  delicious  and  refreshful  in  a  sultry 
hind,  all  correspond  with  the  characteristics  of  a  life  com- 
posed of  innocent  and  simple  elements,  and  brightened 
Avith  the  ordinary  jjleasures  which,  like  the  rain  and  the 
sunshine,  are  granted  to  all  alike. 

What  the  traveler  will  see,  as  he  emerges  from  the  Val- 
ley of  Doves,  and  catches  his  first  eager  glimpse  of  Gen- 
uesareth,  will  be  a  small  inland  sea,  like  a  harp  in  shape, 
thirteen  miles  long  and  six  broad.  On  the  further  or 
eastern  side  runs  a  green  strip  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
breadth,  beyond  which  rises,  to  the  height  of  soine  900 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  lake,  an  escarpment  of  desolate 
hills,  scored  with  gray  ravines,  without  tree,  or  village,  or 
vestige  of  cultivation — the  frequent  scene  of  our  Lord's 
retirement  when,  after  His  weary  labors.  He  sought  the 
deep  refreshment  of  solitude  with  God.  The  lake — with 
its  glittering  crystal  and  fringe  of  flowering  oleanders, 
through  whose  green  leaves  shine  the  bright  blue  wings  of 
the  roller-bird,  and  th.e  kingfishers  may  be  seen  in  multi- 
tudes dashing  down  at  the  fish  that  glance  beneath  them — 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  a  great  dent  or  basin  in  the  earth's 
surface,  more  than  500  feet  below  the  level  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. Hence  the  burnitig  and  enervating  heat  of  the 
valley  ;  but  hence,  too,  the  variety  of  its  foliage,  the  fer- 
tility of  its  soil,  the  luxuriance  of  its  flora,  the  abundant 
harvests  that  ripen  a  month  earlier  than  they  do  elsewhere, 
and  the  number  of  rivulets  that  tumble  down  the  hill-sides 
into  the  lake.  The  shores  are  now  deserted.  With  the 
exception  of  the  small  and  decaying  town  of  Tiberias — 
crumbling  into  the  last  stage  of  decrepitude — and  the 
"frightful  village"  of  Mejdel  (the  ancient  Magdala), 
Avhere  the  degradation  of  the  inhabitants  is  best  shown  by 
the  fact  that  the  children  play  stark  naked  in  the  street — 
there  is  not  a  single  inhabited  spot  on  its  once  crowded 
shores.  One  miserable,  crazy  boat — and  that  not  always 
procurable — has  replaced  its  gay  and  numerous  fleet.  As 
the  fish  are  still  abundant,  no  fact  could  show  more  clearly 
the  dejected  inanity  and  apathetic  enervation  of  the 
present  dwellers  upon  its  shores.  But  the  natural  features 
still  remain.     The  lake  still  lies  unchanged  in  the  bosom 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  MINISTRY.  95 

of  the  liills,  reflecting  every  varying  gleam  of  the  atmos- 
phere like  an  o])al  set  in  emeralds  ;  the  waters  are  still  as 
beautiful  in  their  clearness  as  when  the  boat  of  Peter  lay 
rocking  on  their  ripples,  and  Jesus  gazed  into  their  crystal 
depths;  the  cup-like  basin  still  seems  to  overflow  with  its 
flood  of  sunlight ;  the  air  is  still  balmy  with  natural  per- 
fumes ;  the  turtle-dove  still  murmurs  in  the  valleys,  and 
the  pelican  fishes  in  the  waves;  and  there  are  palms,  and 
green  fields,  and  streams,  and  gray  heaps  of  ruin.  And. 
what  it  has  lost  in  population  and  activity,  it  has  gained, 
in  solemnity  and  interest.  If  every  vestige  of  human 
habitation  should  disappear  from  beside  it,  and  the  jackal 
and  the  hyena  should  howl  about  the  shattered  fragments 
of  the  synagogues  where  once  Christ  taught,  yet  the  fact 
that  He  chose  it  as  the  scene  of  His  opening  ministry  will 
give  a  sense  of  sacredness  and  pathos  to  its  lonely  waters 
till  time  shall  be  no  more. 

Yet  widely  different  must  have  been  its  general  aspect 
in  the  time  of  Christ,  and  far  more  strikingly  beautiful, 
because  far  more  richly  cultivated.  Josephus,  in  a  pas- 
sage of  glowing  admiration,  after  describing  the  sweetness 
of  its  waters,  and  the  delicate  temperature  of  its  air,  its 
palms,  and  vines,  and  oranges,  and  figs,  and  almonds,  and 
pomegranates,  and  warm  springs,  says  that  the  seasons 
seemed  to  compete  for  the  honor  of  its  possession,  and. 
Nature  to  have  created  it  as  a  kind  of  emulative  challenge, 
wherein  she  had  gathered  all  the  elements  of  her  strength. 
The  Talmudists  see  in  the  fact  that  his  plain — "the  am- 
bition of  Nature  " — belonged  to  the  tribe  of  Naphtali,  a 
fulfillment  of  the  Mosaic  blessing,  that  that  tribe  should 
be  "  satisfied  with  favor,  and  full  with  the  blessing  of  the 
Lord;"  and  they  had  the  proverb,  true  in  a  deeper  sense 
than  they  suppose,  that  ''  God  had  created  seven  seas  in 
the  laud  of  Canaan,  but  one  only — the  Sea  of  Galilee — had 
He  chosen  for  Himself." 

Not,  however,  for  its  beauty  only,  but  because  of  its 
centrality,  and  its  populous  activity,  it  was  admirably 
adapted  for  tiiat  ministry  which  fulfilled  the  old  prophecy 
of  Isaiah,  that  "  the  land  of  Zebulun  and  the  land  of 
Naphtali,  beyond  Jordan,  Galilee  of  the  Gentiles,"  should 
"  see  a  great  light;"  and  that  to  them  ''who  satin  the 
region  of  the  shadow  of  death  "  should  ''light  spring  up." 


96  THE  LIFJH  OF  CHUTST. 

For  Christ  was  to  ho,  oven  in  ITis  own  lifetime,  "  n  li^ht 
to  ligliteii  the  (ientiles,"  as  well  as  "  the  glory  of  His 
people  Israel."  And  people  of  many  nationalities  dwelt 
in  and  encompassed  tliis  neighborhood,  becanse  it  was 
"  the  way  of  the  sea."  "  The  cities,"  says  Josephns,  'Mie 
liere  very  thick  ;  and  the  very  numerous  villages  are  so 
full  of  people,  because  of  the  fertility  of  the  land  .  .  . 
that  the  very  smallest  of  them  contain  above  15,000  inhabit- 
ants." He  adds  that  the  people  were  active,  industrious, 
and  inured  to  war  from  infancy,  cultivating  every  acre  of 
their  rich  and  beautiful  soil.  No  less  than  four  roads 
communicated  with  the  shores  of  the  lake.  One  led  down 
the  Jordan  valley  on  the  western  side;  another,  crossing  a 
bridge  at  tlie  south  of  the  lake,  passed  through  Peraea  to 
the  fords  of  Jordan  near  Jericho  ;  a  third  led.  through 
Sepphoris,  the  gay  and  rising  capital  of  Galilee,  to  the 
famous  port  of  Accho  on  the  Mediterranean  Sea;  a  fourth 
ran  over  the  mountains  of  Zebulon  to  Nazareth,  and  so 
through  the  plain  of  Esdraelon  to  Samaria  and  Jerusalem. 
Through  this  district  passed  the  great  caravans  on  their 
way  from  Egypt  to  Damascus;  and  the  heathens  who  con- 
gregated at  Bethsaida  Julius  and  Ca?sarea  Philippi  must 
have  been  constantly  seen  in  the  streets  of  Capernaum." 
In  the  time  of  Christ  it  was  for  population  and  activity 
"  the  manufacturing  district"  of  Palestine, and  the  waters 
of  its  lake  were  plowed  by  4,000  vessels  of  every  descrip- 
tion, from  the  war-vessel  of  the  Komans  to  the  rough 
fisher-boats  of  Bethsaida  and  the  gilded  pinnaces  from 
Herod's  palace.  Iturgea,  Samaria,  Syria,  Phoenicia  were 
immediately  accessible  by  crossing  the  lake,  the  river,  or 
the  hills.  The  town  of  Tiberias,  which  Herod  Antipas 
had  built  to  be  the  capital  of  Galilee,  and  named  in  hoxior 
of  the  reigning  emperor,  had  risen  with  marvelous  rapidity; 
by  the  time  that  St.  John  wrote  his  Gospel  it  had  already 
given  its  name  to  the  Sea  of  Galilee;  and  even  if  Christ  never 
entered  its  heathenish  amphitheater  or  grave-polluted 
streets.  He  must  often  have  seen  in  the  distance  its  tur- 
reted  walls,  its  strong  castle,  and  the  Golden  House  of 
Antipas,  flinging  far  into  the  lake  the  reflection  of  its 
marble  lions  and  sculptured  architraves.  Europe,  Asia 
and  Africa  had  contributed  to  its  population,  and  men  of 
all  nations  met  in  its  market-place.     All  along  the  western 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  MTNI8TRY.  97 

shores  of  Geiinesareth,  Jews  :iud  Gentiles  were  strangely 
mingled,  and  the  wild  Arabs  of  the  desert  might  there 
be  seen  side  by  side  with  enterprising  Phoenicians,  effemi- 
nate Syrians,  contemptuous  lionuius,  and  supple,  wily,  cor- 
rupted Greeks. 

The  days  of  delightful  seclusion  in  the  happy  valley  of 
Nazareth  were  past;  a  life  of  incessant  toil,  of  deep  anxiety, 
of  trouble,  of  wandering  and  opposition,  of  preaching,  heal- 
ing and  doing  good,  was  now  to  begin.  x\t  this  earliest 
dawn  of  .His  public  entrance  upon  His  miuistiy,  our 
Lord's  first  stay  in  Capernaum  was  not  for  many  days; 
yet  these  days  would  be  a  type  of  all  the  remaining  life. 
He  would  preach  in  a  Jewish  synagogue  built  by  a  Roman 
centurion,  and  His  works  of  love  would  become  known  to 
men  of  many  nationalities.  It  would  be  clear  to  all  that 
the  new  Prophet  who  had  arisen  was  wholly  unlike  his 
great  forerunner.  The  hairy  mantle,  the  ascetic  seclusion, 
the  unshorn  locks,  would  have  been  impossible  and  out  of 
place  among  the  inhabitants  of  those  crowded  and  busy 
shores.  Christ  came  not  to  revolutionize,  but  to  ennoble  and 
to  sanctify.  He  came  to  reveal  that  the  Eternal  was  not  the 
Futun,  but  only  the  Unseen;  that  Eternity  was  no  ocean 
whither  men  were  being  swept  by  the  river  of  Time,  but 
Avas  around  them  now,  and  that  their  lives  were  only  real 
in  so  far  as  they  felt  its  reality  and  its  presence.  He  came 
to  teach  that  God  was  no  dim  abstraction,  infinitely  sep- 
arated from  them  in  the  far  olf  blue,  but  that  He  was  the 
Father  in  whom  they  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  their 
being;  and  that  the  service  which  He  loved  was  not  ritual 
and  sacrifice,  not  pompous  scrupulosity  and  censorious 
orthodoxy,  but  mercy  and  justice,  humility  and  love.  He 
came,  not  to  hush  the  natural  music  of  men's  lives,  nor  to 
fill  it  with  storm  and  agitation,  but  to  re-tune  every  silver 
chord  in  that  "harp  of  a  thousand  strings,"  and  to  make 
it  echo  with  the  harmonies  of  heaven. 

And  such  being  the  significance  of  Christ's  life  in  this 
lovely  region,  it  is  strange  that  tlie  exact  site  of  Caper- 
naum— of  Capernaum,  "His  own  city"  (Matt.  ix.  1), 
Avhich  witnessed  so  many  of  His  mightiest  miracles,  which 
heard  so  many  of  His  greatest  revelations — should  remain 
to  this  day  a  matter  of  uncertainty.  That  it  was  indeed 
either  at  Khan  Minyeh  or  at  Tell  llLiin  is  reasonably  certain  j 


98  THE  LIFE  OF  CIiniST. 

but  !it  wliicb  ?  Both  towns  are  in  tlic  immediate  vicinity 
of  Hcthsaida  and  of  Chorazin;  both  are  beside  the  waves  of 
Galilee  ;  both  lie  on  the  "  way  of  the  sea;"  the  claims  of 
both  are  supported  by  powerful  arguments  ;  the  decision 
in  favor  of  either  involves  difliculties  as  yet  unsolved.  After 
visiting  the  scenes,  and  carefully  studying  on  the  spot  the 
arguments  of  travelers  in  many  volumes,  the  preponder- 
ance of  evidence  seems  to  me  in  favor  of  Tell  Hum.  There, 
on  bold  rising  ground,  encumbered  with  fragments  of  white 
marble,  rise  the  ruiiied  walls  of  what  was  perhaps  a  syna- 
gogue, built  in  the  florid  and  composite  style  which  marks 
the  Herodian  age  ;  and  amid  the  i-ank  grass  and  gigantic 
thistles  lie  scattered  the  remnants  of  pillars  and  archi- 
traves which  prove  that  on  this  spot  once  stood  a  beauti- 
ful and  prosperous  town.  At  Klian  Minyeh  there  is 
nothing  but  a  common  ruined  caravanserai  and  gray 
mounded  heaps,  which  may  or  may  not  be  the  ruins  of 
ruins.  But  whichever  of  the  two  was  the  site  on  which 
stood  the  home  of  Peter — which  was  also  the  home  of 
Christ  (Matt.  viii.  14) — either  is  desolate  ;  even  the  wan- 
dering Bedawy  seems  to  shun  those  ancient  ruins,  where 
the  fox  and  the  jackal  prowl  at  night.  The  sad  and 
solemn  woe  that  was  uttered  upon  the  then  bright  and 
flourishing  city  has  been  fulfilled  :  "And  thou,  Caper- 
naum, which  are  exalted  to  heaven,  shalt  be  thrust  down 
to  hell  :  for  if  the  mighty  works,  which  have  been  done 
in  thee,  had  been  done  in  Sodom,  it  had  remained  unto 
this  day." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

JESUS   AT  THE   PASSOVER. 

The  stay  of  Jesus  at  Capernaum  on  this  occasion  was 
very  short,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  He  simply  awaited 
there  the  starting  of  the  great  caravan  of  the  pilgrims,  who, 
at  this  time,  were  about  to  wend  their  way  to  the  great 
feast  at  Jerusalem. 

The  Synoptists  are  silent  respecting  any  visit  of  Christ 
to  the  Passover  between  His  twelfth  year  and  His  death  ; 
and  it  is  St.  John  alone  who,  true  to  the  purpose  and  char- 


JESUS  AT  THE  PASSOVER.  99 

acteristics  of  his  Gospel,  mentions  tliis  earliest  Passover  of 
Christ's  ministry,  or  gives  us  any  particulars  that  took 
place  (luring  its  progress. 

The  main  event  wliich  distinguished  it  was  the  purifica- 
tion of  the  Temple — an  act  so  ineffectual  to  conquer  the 
besetting  vice  of  the  Jews,  that  He  was  obliged  to  repeat 
it,  with  expressions  still  more  stern,  at  the  close  of  His 
ministry,  and  only  four  dt'ys  before  His  death. 

We  have  already  seen  what  vast  crowds  flocked  to  the 
Holy  City  at  the  great  annual  feast.  Then,  as  now,  that 
immense  multitude,  composed  of  pilgrims  from  every  land, 
and  proselytes  of  every  nation,  brought  with  them  many 
needs.  The  traveler  who  now  visits  Jerusalem  at  Easter 
time  will  make  his  way  to  the  gates  of  the  Church  of  the 
Sepulcher  through  a  crowd  of  vendors  of  relics,  souvenirs, 
and  all  kinds  of  objects,  who,  squatting  on  the  ground,  fill 
all  the  vacant  space  before  the  church,  and  overflow  into 
the  adjoining  street.  Far  more  numerous  and  far  more 
noisome  must  have  been  the  buyers  and  sellers  who  choked 
the  avenues  leading  to  the  Temple  in  the  Passover,  to 
which  Jesus  now  went  among  the  other  pilgrims ;  for 
what  they  had  to  sell  were  not  only  trinkets  and  knick- 
knacks,  such  as  now  are  sold  to  Eastern  pilgrims,  but 
oxen,  and  sheep,  and  doves.  On  both  sides  of  the  eastern 
gate — the  gate  Sliusan — as  far  as  Solomon's  porch,  there 
had  long  been  established  the  shops  of  merchants  and  the 
banks  of  money-cliangers.  Tlie  latter  were  almost  a 
necessity;  for,  twenty  days  before  the  Passover,  the  priests 
began  to  collect  the  old  sacred  tribute  of  half  a  shekel  paid 
yearly  by  every  Israelite,  whether  rich  or  jDoor,  as  atone- 
ment money  for  his  soul,  and  applied  to  the  expenses  of 
the  Tabernacle  service.  Now  it  would  not  be  lawful  to 
pay  this  in  the  coinage  brought  from  all  kinds  of  govern- 
ments, sometimes  represented  by  wretched  counters  of 
brass  and  copper,  and  always  defiled  with  heathen  symbols 
and  heathen  inscriptions.  It  was  lawful  to  send  this 
money  to  the  priests  from  a  distance,  but  every  Jew  who 
presented  himself  in  the  Temple  preferred  to  pay  it  in  per- 
son. He  was  therefore  obliged  to  procure  the  little  silver 
coin  in  return  for  his  own  currency,  and  tlie  money- 
changers ciiarged  him  five  per  cent,  as  the  usual  kalbon  or 
agio. 


100  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Iltul  tills  trafiicking  been  confined  to  the  streets  imme- 
diately adjacent  to  tlie  holy  building,  it  would  have  been 
excusable,  though  not  altogether  seemly.  8uch  scenes  are 
described  by  heathen  writers  as  occurring  round  the 
Temple  of  Venus  at  Mount  Eryx,  and  of  the  Syrian  god- 
dess at  llierapolis — nay,  even  to  come  nearer  home,  such 
scenes  once  occurred  in  our  own  St.  Paul's.  But  the  mis- 
chief had  not  stopped  here.  The  vicinity  of  the  Court  of 
the  Gentiles,  with  its  broad  spaces  and  long  arcades,  had 
been  too  tempting  to  Jewish  greed.  We  learn  from  the  Tal- 
mud that  a  certain  Babha  Ben  Buta  had  been  the  first  to 
introduce  "3,000  sheep  of  the  flocks  of  Kedar  into  the 
Mountain  of  the  House  " — i.  e.,  into  the  Court  of  the  Gen- 
tiles, and  therefore  within  the  consecrated  pi-ecincts.  The 
profane  example  was  eagerly  followed.  The  caniijolli  of  the 
shop-keepers,  the  exchange  booths  of  the  usurers,  gradually 
crept  into  the  sacred  inclosure.  There,  in  the  actual  Court 
of  the  Gentiles.,  steaming  with  heat  in  the  burning  April 
day,  and  filling  the  Temple  with  stench  and  filth,  were 
penned  whole  flocks  of  sheep  and  oxen,  while  the  drovers 
and  pilgrims  stood  bartering  and  bargaining  around  them. 
There  were  the  men  with  their  great  wicker  cages  filled 
with  doves,  and  under  the  shadow  of  the  arcade,  formed 
by  quadruple  rows  of  Corinthian  columns,  sat  the 
money-changers  with  their  tables  covered  with  piles  of  va- 
rious small  coins,  while,  as  they  reckoned  and  wrangled  in 
the  most  dishonest  of  trades,  their  greedy  eyes  twinkled 
with  the  lust  of  gain.  And  this  was  tiie  entrance-court  to 
the  Temple  of  the  Most  High!  The  court  which  was  a 
witness  that  that  house  should  be  a  House  of  Prayer  for 
all  nations  had  been  degraded  into  a  place  which,  forfoul- 
i^ess  was  more  like  shambles,  and  for  bustling  commerce 
more  like  a  densely-crowded  bazar;  while  the  lowing  of 
oxen,  the  bleating  of  sheep,  the  Babel  of  many  languages, 
the  huckstering  and  wrangling,  and  the  clinking  of  money 
and  of  balances  (jierhap^^  not  always  just),  might  be  heard 
in  the  adjoining  courts,  disturbing  the  chant  of  the  Levites 
and  the  prayers  of  priests! 

Filled  with  a  righteous  scorn  at  all  this  mean  irreverence, 
burning  with  irresistible  and  noble  indignation,  Jesus,  on 
entering  the  Temple,  made  a  scourge  of  the  rushes  that 
lay  on  the  flooi'j  and  in  order  to  cleanse  the  sacred  court 


JES US  AT  THE  PASSO VER.  101 

of  its  worst  pollutions,  first  drove  out,  indiscriminately, 
the  sheep  and  oxen  and  the  low  crowd  who  tended  them. 
Then  going  to  the  tables  of  the  money-changers  He  over- 
thi-ew  them  where  they  stood,  upsetting  the  carefully- 
arranged  heaps  of  heterogeneous  coinage,  and  leaving  the 
owners  to  grope  and  luint  for  their  scattered  money  on  the 
polluted  floor.  Even  to  those  who  sold  doves  He  issued 
the  mandate  to  depart,  less  sternly  indeed,  because  the 
dove  was  the  offering  of  the  poor,  and  there  was  less  dese- 
cration and  foulness  in  the  presence  there  of  those  lovely 
emblems  of  innocence  and  purity;  nor  could  he  overturn 
the  tables  of  the  dove-sellers  lest  the  birds  sliould  be  hurt 
in  their  cages;  but  still,  even  to  those  who  sold  doves.  He 
authoritatively  claimed,  '''Take  these  things  hence," justi- 
fying His  action  to  the  whole  tei-rified,  injured,  muttering, 
ignoble  crowd  in  no  other  words  than  the  high  rebuke, 
"Make  not  my  Father's  house  a  house  of  inerchandise." 
And  his  disciples,  seeing  this  transport  of  inspiring  and 
glorious  anger,  recalled  to  mind  wliat  David  had  once 
written  ''to  the  cliief  musician  upon  Soshannim,"  for  the 
service  of  that  very  Temple,  "  The  zeal  of  thine  house 
shall  even  devour  me." 

Why  did  not  this  multitude  of  ignorant  pilgrims  resist? 
AYhy  did  these  greedy  cliafferers  content  themselves  with 
dark  scowls  and  muttered  maledictions,  while  they  suffered 
their  oxen  and  shee])  to  be  chased  into  the  streets  and 
themselves  ejected,  and  their  money  flung  rolling  on  the 
floor,  by  one  who  was  then  young  and  unknown,  and  in 
the.garb  of  despised  Galilee?  "Why,  in  tlie  same  way  Ave 
might  ask,  did  Saul  suffer  Samuel  to  beard  him  in  the  very 
presence  of  His  army?  Why  did  David  abjectly  obey  the 
orders  of  Joab?  Why  did  Ahab  not  dare  to  arrest  Elijali 
at  the  door  of  Naboth's  vineyard  ?  Because  sin  is  loeak- 
ness;  because  there  is  in  the  woi'ld  nothing  so  abject  as  a 
guilty  conscience,  nothing  so  invincible  as  the  sweeping 
tide  of  a  Godlike  indignation  against  all  that  is  base  and 
wrong.  How  could  these  paltry  sacrilegious  buyers  and 
sellers,  conscious  of  wrongdoing,  oppose  that  scathing  re- 
buke, or  face  the  lightnings  of  tliose  eyes  that  were  enkin- 
dled by  an  outraged  holiness?  When  Piiiiiehas  the  priest 
was  zealous  for  tlie  Lord  of  Hosts,  and  drove  through  the 
bodies  of  the  prince  of  Simeon  and  the  Midianitish  woman 


102  THE  LIFE  OF  VHRTST. 

with  one  glorious  thrust  of  his  indignant  spear,  "why  did 
not  guilty  Israel  avenge  that  splendid  murder?  Why  did 
not  every  man  of  the  tribe  of  Simeon  become  a  Goel,  to  the 
dauntless  assassin  ?  Because  Vice  cannot  stand  for  one 
moment  before  Virtue's  uplifted  arm.  Base  and  groveling 
as  they  were,  these  money-mongering  Jews  felt,  in  all  that 
remnant  of  their  souls  which  was  not  yet  eaten  away  by 
infidelity  and  avarice,  that  the  Son  of  Man  was  right. 

Nay,  even  the  Priests  and  Pharisees,  and  Scribes  and 
Levites,  devoured  as  they  were  by  pride  and  formalism, 
could  not  condemn  an  act  which  might  have  been  per- 
formed by  a  Nehemiah  or  a  Judas  Maccabaeus,  aiid  which 
agreed  with  all  that  was  purest  and  best  in  their  traditions. 
But  when  they  had  heard  of  this  deed,  or  Avitnessed  it,  and 
liad  time  to  recover  from  the  breathless  mixture  of  admi- 
ration, disgust  and  astonishment  which  it  inspired,  they 
came  to  Jesus,  aiid  though  they  did  not  dare  to  condemn 
what  He  had  done,  yet  half  indignantly  asked  Him  for 
some  sign  that  He  had  a  rigiit  to  act  thus. 

Our  Lord's  answer  in  its  full  meaning  was  far  beyond 
their  comprehension,  and  in  \\\\^i  apj)cared  to  be  its  mean- 
ing filled  them  with  a  j)erfect  stupor  of  angry  amazement. 
**  Destroy,"  He  said,  "  this  temple,  and  in  three  days  I  will 
raise  it  up." 

Destroy  this  Temple!  the  Temple  on  which  a  king  pre- 
eminent for  his  wealth  and  magnificence  had  lavished  his 
most  splendid  resources,  and  thereby  almost  reconciled  the 
Jews  to  an  intolerable  tyranny;  the  Temple  for  the  con- 
struction of  which  one  thousand  wagons  had  been  required, 
and  ten  thousand  workmen  enrolled,  and  a  thousand  priests 
in  sacerdotal  vestments  employed  to  lay  the  stones  which 
the  workmen  had  already  hewn;  the  Temple  which  was  a 
marvel  to  the  world  for  its  colossal  substructions  of  mar- 
ble, its  costly  mosaics,  its  fragrant  woods,  its  glittering 
roofs,  the  golden  vine  with  its  hanging  clusters  sculptured 
over  the  entrance  door,  the  embroidered  veils,  enwoven 
with  flowers  of  purple,  the  profuse  magnificence  of  its  sil- 
ver, gold  and  precious  stones.  It  had  been  already  forty- 
six  years  in  building,  and  was  yet  far  from  finished;  and 
this  unknown  Galih^an  youth  bade  them  destroy  it,  and 
He  would  raise  it  in  three  days!  Such  was  tlie  literal  and 
evidently  false  construction  wliich  they  chose  to  put  upon 


JESUS  AT  THE  PA8S0  VER.  103 

his  words,  tl}oagh  the  recorded  practice  of  their  own  great 
prophets  might  have  shown  them  that  a  mystery  Lay  hidden 
in  this  sign  which  He  gave. 

How  ineffaceable  was  the  impression  produced  by  the 
words  is  best  proved  by  the  fact  that  more  tlian  three 
years  afterward  it  was  this,  more  than  all  His  other  dis- 
courses, which  His  accusers  and  false  witnesses  tried  to 
pervert  into  a  constructive  evidence  of  guilt  ;  nay,  it  was 
even  this,  more  than  anything  else,  with  which  the  mis- 
erable robber  taunted  Him  upon  the  very  cross.  They 
were  obliged,  indeed,  entirely  to  distort  His  words  into 
"  I  am  able  to  destroy  the  Temple  of  God,'"  or  "  I  will  de- 
stroy this  Temple  made  with  luinds,  and  in  three  days  will 
build  another."  He  had  never  used  these  expressions,  and 
here  also  their  false  witness  was  so  self-contradictory  as  to 
break  down.  But  they  were  well  aware  that  this  attempt 
of  theirs  to  infuse  a  political  and  seditious  meaning  into 
what  He  said,  was  best  calculated  to  madden  the  tribunal 
before  which  He  was  arraigned  :  indeed,  so  well  adapted 
was  it  to  this  purpose  that  the  more  distant  echo,  as  it 
Avere,  of  the  same  words  was  again  the  main  cause  of 
martyrdom  to  His  proto-martyr  Stephen. 

"  But  he  spake,"  says  St.  John,  "  of  the  temple  of  His 
body,"  and  he  adds  that  it  was  not  until  His  resurrection 
that  His  disciples  fully  understood  His  words.  Nor  is 
this  astonishing,  for  they  were  words  of  very  deep  signifi- 
cance. Hitherto  there  had  been  but  one  Temple  of  the 
true  God,  the  Temple  in  which  He  then  stood  —  the 
Temple  which  symbolized,  and  had  once  at  least,  as  the 
Jews  believed,  enshrined  that  Siiechinah,  or  cloud  of 
glory,  which  was  the  living  witness  to  God's  pi-esence  in 
the  world.  But  now  the  Spirit  of  God  abode  in  a  Temple 
not  made  with  hands,  even  in  the  sacred  Body  of  the  Son 
of  God  made  flesh.  He  tabernacled  among  i.s  ;  "  He  had 
a  tent  like  ours,  and  of  the  same  material."  Even  this 
was  to  be  done  away.  At  that  great  Pentecost  three  years 
later,  and  thenceforward  forever,  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God 
was  to  prefer 

"  Before  all  temples  tlie  upright  heart  and  pure." 

Every  Christian  man  was  to  be,  in  his  mortal  body,  a 
temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost.     This  was  to  be  the  central 


IQ^  THE  LIFK  OF  CIIRTST. 

trntli,  the  subliinost  privilege  of  the  New  Dispensation  ; 
this  WHS  to  be  the  object  of  Christ's  departure,  and  to 
make  it  "  better  for  us  tliat  lie  sliould  go  away." 

Nothing  conhl  have  been  more  amazing  to  the  carnal 
mind,  tlial;  walked  by  sight  and  not  by  faith —  nothing 
more  offensive  to  the  Pharisaic  mind  that  clung  to  the 
material— than  this  high  truth,  that  his  sacred  Temple  at 
Jerusalem  was  henceforth  to  be  no  longer,  with  any  special 
privilege,  the  place  where  men  were  to  worship  the  Father; 
that,  in  fact,  it  was  the  truest  Temple  no  longer.  Yet 
they  might,  if  they  had  willed  it,  have  had  some  faint  con- 
ception of  what  Christ  meant.  They  must  have  known 
that  by  the  voice  of  John,  lie  had  been  proclaimed  the 
Messiah  ;  thev  might  have  realized  what  He  afterward 
said  to  them, 'that  "  in  this  place  was  one  greater  than  the 
Temple  ;"  they  might  have  entered  into  the  remarkable 
utterance  of  a'Rabbi  of  their  own  class — an  utterance  in- 
volved in  the  prophetic  language  of  Daniel  ix.  24,  and 
which  they  onglit  therefore  to  have  known — that  the  true 
Holy  of  Holies  was  the  Messiah  Himself. 

And  in  point  of  fact  there  is  an  incidental  but  pro- 
foundly significant  indication  that  they  had  a  deeper  in- 
sight into  Christ's  real  meaning  than  they  chose  to  reveal. 
For,  still  brooding  on  these  same  words — the  first  official 
words  which  Christ  had  addressed  to  them — when  Jesus 
lay  dead  and  buried  in  the  rocky  tomb,  they  came  to 
Pilate  with  the  remarkable  story,  "  Sir,  we  remember  that 
that  deceiver  said,  while  He  was  yet  alive.  After  three 
days  I  will  rise  again."  Now  tliere  is  no  trace  that  Jesus 
had  eve?'  used  any  such  words  distinctly  to  them  ;  and 
unless  they  had  heard  the  saying  from  Judas,  or  unless  it 
had  been  I'epeated  by  common  rumor  derived  from  the 
Apostles — i.e.,  unless  the  "we  remember"  was  a  distinct 
falsehood  —  they  could  have  been  referring  to  no  other 
occasion  than  this.  And  that  they  should  have  heard  it 
from  any  of  the  disciples  was  most  unlikely ;  for  over  the 
slow  hearts  of  the  Apostles  these  words  of  our  Lord  seem 
to  have  passed  like  the  idle  wind.  In  spite  of  all  that  He 
had  told  them,  there  seems  to  have  been  nothing  which 
they  expected  less  than  His  death,  unless  it  were  His  sub- 
sequent resurrection.  How  then  came  these  Pharisees 
and  Priests  to  understand  better  than  His  own  disciples 


JESUS  AT  TEE  PASSOVER.  105 

what  our  Lord  had  meant?  Because  they  were  not  like 
the  Apostles,  loving,  guileless,  simple-hearted  men  ;  be- 
cause, in  spite  of  all  their  knowledge  and  insight,  their 
hearts  were  even  already  full  of  the  hatred  and  rejection 
which  ended  in  Christ's  murder,  and  whicli  threw  the 
guilt  of  his  blood  on  the  heads  of  them  and  of  their 
children. 

But  there  was  yet  another  meaning  which  the  words  in- 
volved, not,  indeed,  less  distasteful  to  their  prejudices,  but 
none  the  less  full  of  warning,  and  more  clearly  within  the 
range  of  their  understandings.  The  Temple  was  the  very 
heart  of  the  whole  Mosaic  system,  the  headquarters,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  entire  Levitical  ceremonial.  In  profaning  that 
Temple,  and  suffering  it  to  be  profaned — in  suffering  One 
whom  they  chose  to  regard  as  only  a  poor  Galilasan  teacher 
to  achieve  that  purification  of  it  which,  whether  from 
supineness,  or  from  self-interest,  or  from  timidity,  neither 
Caiaphas,  nor  Annas,  nor  Hillel,  nor  Shammai,  nor  Gama- 
liel, nor  Herod  had  ventured  to  attempt — were  they  not, 
as  it  were,  destroying  that  Temple,  abrogating  that  system, 
bearing  witness  by  their  very  actions  that  for  them  its  real 
significance  had  passed  away?  "^Finish  then,"  he  might 
have  implied,  at  once  by  way  of  prophecy  and  of  permis- 
sion, "  finish  without  delay  this  your  woi-k  of  dissolution  ; 
in  three  days  will  I,  as  a  risen  Redeemer,  restore 
something  better  and  greater  ;  not  a  material  Temple, 
but  a  living  Church."  Such  is  the  meaning  which 
St.  Stephen  seems  to  have  seen  in  these  words. 
Such  is  the  meaning  which  is  expanded  in  so  many 
passages  by  the  matchless  reasoning  and  passion  of 
St.  Paul.  But  to  this  and  every  meaning  they  were  deaf, 
and  dull,  and  blind.  They  seem  to  liave  gone  away  silent 
indeed,  but  sullen  and  dissatisfied  ;  suspicious  of,  yet  in- 
different to,  the  true  solution  ;  ignorant,  yet  too  haughty 
and  too  angry  to  inquire. 

What  great  works  Jesus  did  on  this  occasion  we  cannot 
tell.  Whatever  they  were,  they  caused  some  to  believe  on 
Him;  but  it  was  not  as  yet  a  belief  in  which  He  could 
trust.  Their  mere  intellectual  witness  to  His  claims  He 
needed  not ;  and  their  hearts,  untouched  as  yet,  were,  as 
He  knew  by  divine  insight,  cold  and  barren,  treacherous 
and  false. 


lOG  TUE  LIFE  OF  VURIST. 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

NICODEMUS. 

A  CASTE  or  a  sect  may  consist  for  the  most  part  of 
haughty  fanatics  and  obstinate  bigots,  but  it  will  be 
strange  indeed  if  tliere  are  to  be  found  among  them  no  ex- 
ceptions to  the  general  characteristics  ;  strange  if  honesty, 
candor,  sensibility,  are  utterly  dead  among  them  all.  Even 
among  rulers,  sci'ibes,  Pharisees,  and  wealthy  members  of 
the  Sanhedrin,  Christ  found  believers  and  followers.  The 
earliest  and  most  remarkable  of  these  was  Nicodemus,  a 
rich  man,  a  ruler,  a  Pharisee,  and  a  member  of  the  San- 
hedrin. 

A  constitutional  timidity  is,  however,  observable  in  all 
which  the  Gospels  tell  us  about  Nicodemus;  a  timidity 
Avhich  could  not  be  wholly  overcome  even  by  his  honest 
desire  to  befriend  and  acknowledge  One  whom  he  knew  to 
be  a  Prophet,  even  if  he  did  not  at  once  recognize  in  Him 
the  promised  Messiah.  Thus  the  few  words  which  he  in- 
terposed to  check  the  rash  injustice  of  his  colleagues  are 
cautiously  rested  on  a  general  principle,  and  betray  no  in- 
dication of  his  personal  faith  in  the  Galila3an  whom  his 
sect  despised.  And  even  when  the  power  of  Christ's  love, 
manifested  on  the  cross,  had  made  the  most  timid  disci- 
ples bold,  Nicodemus  does  not  come  forward  with  his 
splendid  gifts  of  affection  until  the  example  had  been  set 
by  one  of  iiis  own  wealth,  and  rank,  and  station  in  society. 

Such  was  the  Rabbi  who,  with  that  mingled  candor  and 
fear  of  man  which  chai'acterize  all  that  we  know  of  him, 
came  indeed  to  Jesus,  but  came  cautiously  by  night.  He 
was  anxious  to  know  more  of  this  young  Galilaean  prophet 
Avhotn  he  was  too  honest  not  to  recognize  as  a  teacher  come 
from  Cxod  ;  but  he  thought  himself  too  eminent  a  person 
among  his  sect  to  compromise  his  dignity,  and  possibly 
even  his  safety,  by  visiting  Him  in  public. 

Although  he  is  alluded  to  in  only  a  few  touches,  because 
of  that  high  teaching  which  Jesus  vouchsafed  to  him,  yet 
the  impression  left  upon  us  by  his  individuality  is  inimi- 
tably distinct,  and  wholly  beyond  the  range  of  invention. 


NIC0DEMU8.  107 

His  very  first  remark  shows  the  indirect  character  of  his 
mind — his  way  of  suggesting  rather  than  stating  what  he 
wished — the  lialf-patronizing  desire  to  ask,  yet  the  half- 
shrinking  rehictance  to  frame  his  question — the  admission 
that  Jesus  had  come  ''from  God,"  yet  the  hesitating  im- 
plication that  it  was  only  as  "  a  teacher,"  and  the  sup- 
pressed inquir)',  "  What  must  I  do  ?" 

Our  Lord  saw  deep  into  his  heart,  and  avoiding  all  for- 
malities or  discussion  of  preliminaries,  startles  him  at  once 
with  the  solemn  uncompromising  address,  "  Vei'ily,  verily, 
I  say  unto  thee.  Except  a  man  he  born  again  (or  'from 
above '),  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God."  My  disci- 
ple must  be  mine  in  heart  and  soul,  or  he  is  no  disciple  at 
all;  the  question  is  not  of  doing  or  not  doing,  but  of  being. 

That  answer  startled  Xicodemus  into  deep  earnestness  ; 
but  like  the  Jews  in  the  last  chapter  (ii.  20),  he  either 
could  not,  or  would  not,  grasp  its  full  significance.  He 
jjrefers  to  play,  with  a  kind  of  querulous  surprise,  about 
the  mere  literal  meaning  of  the  words  whicli  he  chooses  to 
interpret  in  the  most  physical  and  unintelligible  sense. 
Mere  logomachy  like  tiiis,  Jesus  did  not  pause  to  notice  ; 
He  only  sheds  a  fresh  ray  of  light  on  the  reiteration  of  his 
former  Avarning,  He  spoke,  not  of  the  fleshly  birth,  but 
of  that  spiritual  regeneration  of  which  no  man  could  pre- 
dict the  course  or  method,  any  more  than  they  could  tell 
the  course  of  the  night  breeze  that  rose  and  fell  and  whis- 
pered fitfully  outside  the  little  tabernacle  where  they  sat, 
but  which  must  be  a  birth  by  water  and  by  Spirit — a  puri- 
fication, that  is,  and  a  renewal — an  outward  symbol  and  an 
inward  grace — a  death  unto  sin  and  a  new  birth  unto 
righteousness, 

Nicodemus  could  only  answer  by  an  expression  of  in- 
credulous amazement.  A  Gentile  might  need,  as  it  were, 
a  new  birth  when  admitted  into  the  Jewish  communion  ; 
but  he — a  son  of  Abraham,  a  Eabbi,  a  zealous  keeper  of 
the  Law — could  he  need  that  new  birth  ?  How  could  such 
things  be  ? 

"Art  thou  the  teacher  (o  SiSdGnaXoi)  of  Israel,"  asked 
our  Lord,  ''and  knowest  not  these  things  ?"  Art  thou  the 
third  member  of  the  Sanhedrin,  the  chdkdm  or  wise  man, 
and  yet  knowest  not  the  earliest,  simplest  lesson  of  the 
initiation  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?    If  thy  knowledge 


108  TlIK  LIFK  OF  (JURIST. 

be  thus  carnal,  tlnis  limited — if  thus  thou  stumblest  on 
the  threshold,  how  canst  thou  understand  those  deeper 
truths  which  He  only  who  came  down  from  heaven  can 
make  known  ?  TMie  question  was  half  sorrowful,  half  re- 
proachful ;  but  lie  proceeded  to  reveal  to  this  Master  in 
Israel  things  greater  and  stranger  than  these  ;  even  the 
salvation  of  uian  rendered  possible  by  the  sufferings  and 
exaltation  of  the  Son  of  Man  ;  the  love  of  God  manifested 
in  sending  His  only-begotten  Son,  not  to  judge,  but  to 
save  ;  the  deliverance  foi'  all  through  faith  in  Him  ;  the 
condemnation  which  must  fall  on  those  who  willfully  reject 
the  truths  He  came  to  teach. 

These  were  indeed  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven — truths  once  undreamed  of,  but  now  fully  revealed. 
And  although  they  violated  every  prejudice,  and  overthrew 
every  immediate  hope  of  this  aged  inquirer — though  to 
learn  them  he  must  unlearn  the  entire  intellectual  habits 
of  his  life  and  training — yet  we  know  from  the  sequel  that 
they  must  have  sunk  into  his  inmost  soul.  Doubtless  in 
the  further  discussion  of  them  the  night  deepened  around 
them  ;  and  in  the  memorable  words  about  the  light  and 
the  darkness  with  which  the  interview  was  closed,  Jesus 
gently  rebuked  the  fear  of  man  which  led  this  great  Eabbi 
to  seek  the  shelter  of  midnight  for  a  deed  which  was  not 
a  deed  of  darkness  needing  to  be  concealed,  but  which 
was  indeed  a  coming  to  the  true  and  only  Light. 

Whatever  lessons  were  uttered,  or  signs  were  done  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  this  First  Passover,  no  further 
details  are  given  us  about  them.  Finding  a  stolid  and  in- 
sensate opposition,  our  Lord  left  Jerusalem,  and  went  with 
His  disciples  ''into  Judaea,"  apparently  to  the  banks  of 
the  Jordan,  for  there  St.  John  tells  us  that  His  disciples 
began  to  baptize.  This  baptism,  a  distant  foreshadowing 
of  the  future  sacrament,  Christ  seems  rather  to  have  per- 
mitted than  to  have  directly  organized.  As  yet  it  was  the 
time  of  Preparation ;  as  yet  the  inauguration  of  His 
ministry  had  been,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression, 
of  an  isolated  and  tentative  description.  Theologians 
have  sought  for  all  kinds  of  subtle  and  profound  explana- 
tions of  this  baptism  by  the  disciples.  Nothing,  however, 
that  has  been  suggested  throws  any  further  light  upon  the 
subject,  and  we  can  only  believe  that  Jesus  permitted  for 


mcODEMVS.  109 

a  time  this  simple  and  beautiful  rite  as  a  sign  of  disciple- 
ship,  and  as  the  national  symbol  of  a  desire  for  that 
lustration  of  the  lieart  whicli  'vas  essential  to  all  who 
would  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  iieaven. 

John  the  Baptist  was  still  continuing  his  baptism  of  re- 
pentance. Here,  too,  theologians  have  discovered  a  deep 
and  mysterious  difficulty,  and  have  entered  into  elaborate 
disquisitions  on  the  relations  between  the  baptism  of  Jesus 
and  of  John.  Nothing,  however,  has  been  elicited  from 
the  discussion.  Inasmuch  as  tiie  full  activity  of  Christ's 
ministry  had  not  yet  been  begun,  the  baptism  of  St.  John 
no  less  than  that  of  the  disciples  must  be  still  regarded  as 
a  symbol  of  repentance  and  purity.  Nor  will  any  one  who 
is  convinced  tliat  Repentance  is  ''the  younger  brother  of 
Innocence,"  and  that  for  all  who  have  sinned  repentance 
is  the  very  work  of  life,  be  surprised  that  the  earliest 
preaching  of  Jesus  as  of  John  was — "  Repent,  for  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand."  The  time  of  prepara- 
tion, of  preliminary  testing,  was  not  over  yet ;  it  was 
indeed  drawing  to  a  conclusion,  and  this  baptism  by  the 
disciples  was  but  a  transitory  phase  of  the  opening  min- 
istry. And  the  fact  that  .John  no  longer  preached  in  the 
wilderness,  or  baptized  at  Bethany,  but  had  found  it 
desirable  to  leave  the  scene  of  his  brief  triumph  and  glory, 
marked  that  there  was  a  waning  in  the  brightness  of  that 
star  of  the  Gospel  dawn.  The  humble  spirit  of  John — in 
all  of  whose  words  a  deep  undertone  of  sadness  is  trace- 
able— accepted,  in  entire  submissivenessto  the  will  of  God, 
the  destiny  of  a  brief  and  interrupted  mission. 

He  had  removed  to  iEiion,  near  Salim,  a  locality  so 
wholly  uncertain  that  it  is  impossible  to  arrive  at  any  de- 
cision respecting  it.  Some  still  came  to  his  baptism, 
though  probably  in  diminished  numbers,  for  a  larger 
multitude  now  began  to  flock  to  the  baptism  of  Christ's 
disciples.  But  the  ignoble  jealousy  which  could  not  darken 
the  illuminated  soul  of  the  Forerunner,  found  a  ready 
place  in  the  hearts  of  his  followers.  How  long  it  may 
have  smouldered  we  do  not  know,  but  it  was  called  into 
active  display  during  the  controversy  excited  by  the  fact 
that  two  great  Teachers,  of  whom  one  had  testified  to  the 
other  as  the  promised  Messiah,  were  baptizing  large  multi- 
tudes  of   people,    although    the    Sanhedrin    ami    all   the 


110  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

appointed  autliorities  of  the  niition  Imd  declared  against 
their  claims.  Some  Jew  had  annoyed  the  disci2)lesof  Joim 
with  a  dispnte  abont  })urification,  and  they  vented  their 
perplexed  and  mortified  feelings  in  a  complaint  to  their 
great  master  :  "  Rabbi,  He  who  was  with  thee  beyond 
Jordan,  to  whom  thou  hast  borne  witness,  lo  He 
is  baptizing,  and  all  men  are  coming  to  Him." 
Tiie  significant  suppression  of  the  name,  the  tone 
of  irritation  at  what  appeared  to  them  an  encroach- 
ment, the  scarcely  subdued  resentment  that  any  one  slionld 
be  a  successful  rival  to  him  whose  words  had  for  a  season 
so  deeply  stirred  the  hearts  of  men,  are  all  apparent  in 
this  querulous  address.  And  in  the  noble  answer  to  it, 
all  John's  inherent  greatness  shown  forth.  He  could  not 
enter  into  rivalries,  which  would  be  a  ti'eachery  against 
his  deepest  convictions,  a  falsification  of  his  most  solemn 
words.  God  was  the  sole  source  of  human  gifts,  and  in 
His  sight  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  human  great- 
ness. He  reminded  them  of  his  asseveration  that  he  was 
7iot  the  Christ,  but  only  his  messenger;  he  was  not  the  bride- 
groom, but  the  bridegroom's  friend,  and  his  heart  was 
even  now  being  gladdened  by  the  bridegroom's  voice. 
Henceforth  he  was  content  to  decrease  ;  content  that  his 
little  light  should  be  swallowed  up  in  the  boundless  dawn. 
He  was  but  an  earthly  messenger;  but  he  had  put  the  seal 
of  his  most  intense  conviction  to  the  belief  that  God  was 
true,  and  had  given  all  things  to  His  Sou,  and  that 
through  Him  alone  could  eternal  life  be  won. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  WOMAN    OF  SAMARIA. 

The  Jew  whose  discussions  had  thus  deeply  moved  the 
followers  of  John  may  well  have  been  one  of  the  prominent 
Pharisees;  and  our  Lord  soon  became  aware  that  they  were 
watching  his  proceedings  with  an  unfriendly  eye.  Their 
hostility  to  John  was  a  still  deeper  hostility  against  Him, 
for  the  very  reason  that  His  teaching  was  already  more 
successful.  Perhaps  in  consequence  of  this  determined  re- 
jection of  the  earliest  steps  of  His  teaching — perhaps  also 


TEE  WOMAN  OF  JSAMAlilA.  Ill 

out  of  regard  for  the  wounded  feelings  of  John's  followers 
— but  most  of  nil  because  at  this  very  time  the  news  reached 
him  that  John  had  been  seized  by  Herod  Antipas  and 
thrown  into  prison — Jesus  left  Judaea  and  again  departed 
into  Galilee.  Being  already  in  the  north  of  Judaea,  He 
chose  the  route  which  led  through  Samaria.  The  fanati- 
cism of  Jewish  hatred,  the  fastidiousness  of  Jewish  Phari- 
saism, which  led  his  countrymen  when  traveling  alone  to 
avoid  that  route,  could  have  no  existence  for  Him,  and 
were  things  rather  to  be  discouraged  than  approved. 

Starting  early  in  the  morning,  to  enjoy  as  many  as  pos- 
sible of  the  cool  hours  for  traveling,  he  stopped  at  length 
for  rest  and  refreshment  in  the  neighboriiood  of  Sychar,  a 
city  not  far  from  the  well  in  the  fertile  district  which  the 
partiality  of  the  patriarch  Jacob  had  bequeathed  to  his  fav- 
orite son.  The  well,  like  all  frequented  wells  in  the  East, 
was  doubtless  sheltered  by  a  little  alcove,  in  which  were 
seats  of  stone. 

It  was  the  hour  of  noon,  and  weary  as  He  was  with  the 
long  journey,  possibly  also  with  the  extreme  heat,  our  Lord 
sat  '*  thus  ""on  the  well.  The  expression  in  the  original  is 
most  pathetically  picturesque.  It  implies  that  the  Way- 
farer was  quite  tired  out,  and  in  His  exhaustion  flung  His 
limbs  wearily  on  the  seat,  anxious,  if  possible,  for  complete 
repose.  His  disciples — probably  the  two  pairs  of  brothers 
whom  He  had  called  among  the  earliest,  and  with  them  the 
friends  Philip  and  Bartholomew— had  left  Him,  to  buy  in 
the  neighboring  city  what  was  necessary  for  their  wants  ; 
and  hungry  and  thirsty.  He  who  bore  all  our  infirmities 
sat  wearily  awaiting  them,  when  his  solitude  was  broken 
by  the  approach  of  a  woman.  In  a  May  noon  in  Palestine 
the  heat  may  be  indeed  intense,  but  it  is  not  too  intense  to 
admit  of  moving  about;  and  this  woman,  either  from  acci- 
dent or,  possibly,  because  she  was  in  no  good  repute,  and 
therefore  would  avoid  the  hour  when  the  well  would  be 
thronged  by  all  the  women  of  the  city,  was  coming  to  draw 
water.  Her  national  enthusiasm  and  reverence  for  the 
great  ancestor  of  her  race,  or  perhaps  the  superior  coolness 
and  freshness  of  the  water,  may  have  been  sufficient  motive 
to  induce  her  to  seek  tiiis  well,  rather  than  any  nearer 
fountain.  Water  in  tlie  East  is  not  only  a  necessity,  but  a 
delicious  luxury,  and  the  natives  of  Palestine  are  connois- 
seurs as  to  its  quality. 


1 1 2  THE  L  JFK  OF  CHRIST. 

Jesus  would  luive  luiiled  lier  approach.  The  scene, 
indeed,  in  tliat  ricli  green  valley,  with  the  great  corn- 
fields spreading  far  anil  wide,  and  the  grateful  shadow  of 
trees,  and  the  rounded  masses  of  Ehal  and  Geriziin  rising  on 
either  hand,  might  well  have  invited  to  lonely  musing:  and 
all  the  associations  of  that  sacred  spot — the  story  of  Jacob, 
the  neighboring  tomb  of  the  princely  Joseph,  the  memo- 
ries of  Joshua,  and  of  Gideon,  and  the  long  line  of  Israel- 
itish  kings — would  supply  many  a  theme  for  such  medita- 
tions. But  the  Lord  was  thii'sty  and  fatigued,  and 
l)aving  no  means  of  reaching  the  cool  water  which  glim- 
mered deep  below  the  well's  mouth,  He  said  to  the  woman, 
"Give  me  to  drink." 

Every  one  who  has  traveled  in  the  East  knows  how  glad 
and  ready  is  the  response  to  this  request.  The  miserable 
Fellah,  even  the  rough  Bedawy,  seems  to  feel  a  positive 
pleasure  in  having  it  in  his  power  to  obey  the  command  of 
his  great  prophet,  and  share  with  a  thirsty  traveler  the 
priceless  element.  But  so  deadly  was  the  hatred  and 
rivalry  between  Jews  and  Samaritans,  so  entire  the  absence 
of  all  familiar  intercourse  between  them,  that  the  request 
only  elicited  from  the  woman  of  Samaria  an  expression  of 
surprise  that  it  sliould  have  been  made. 

Gently,  and  without  a  word  of  rebuke,  our  Lord  tells 
her  that  had  she  known  him,  and  asked  of  Him,  He 
would  have  given  her  living  water.  She  pointed  to  the 
well,  a  hundred  feet  deep.  He  had  nothing  to  draw  with: 
whence  could  He  obtain  this  living  water?  And  then, 
perhaps  with  a  smile  of  incredulity  and  national  pride,  she 
asked  if  He  were  greater  that  their  father  Jacob,  who  had 
digged  and  drunk  of  that  very  well.  And  yet  there  must 
have  been  something  which  struck  and  overawed  her  in 
His  words,  for  now  she  addresses  Him  by  the  title  of  respect 
which  had  been  wanting  in  her  first  address. 

Our  Lord  is  not  deterred  by  the  hard  literalism  of  her 
reply;  He  treats  it  as  He  had  treated  similar  unimagina- 
tive dullness  in  the  learned  Nicodemus.  by  still  drawing 
her  thoughts  upward,  if  possible,  to  a  higher  region.  She 
was  tliinking  of  common  water,  of  which  he  who  drink- 
eth  would  thirst  again  ;  but  the  water  He  spake  of  was  a 
fountain  within  the  heart,  which  quenched  all  thirst  for- 
ever, and  sprang  up  unto  eternal  life. 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SAMARIA.  113 

She  becomes  the  siippliant  now.  He  had  asked  her  ji 
little  favor,  which  she  had  dohiyed,  or  half  declined  ;  he 
now  offers  her  an  eternal  gift.  She  sees  that  slie  is  in 
some  great  Presence,  and  begs  for  this  living  water,  but 
again  with  the  same  unspiritual  narrowness — she  only  begs 
for  it  that  she  might  thirst  no  more,  nor  come  there  to 
draw. 

But  enough  was  done  for  the  present  to  awake  and  to 
instruct  this  poor  stranger,  and  abruptly  bi'eaking  off  this 
part  of  the  conversation,  Jesus  bids  her  call  her  husband 
and  return.  All  that  was  iu  Ilis  mind  when  he  uttered 
this  command  we  cannot  tell  ;  it  may  have  been  because 
the  immemorial  decorum  of  tlie  East  regarded  it  as  unbe- 
coming, if  not  as  positively  wrong,  for  any  man,  and 
above  all  for  a  Rabbi,  to  hold  conversation  with  a  strange 
woman ;  it  may  have  been  also  to  break  a  stony  heart,  to 
awake  a  sleeping  conscience.  For  she  was  forced  to  answer 
that  she  had  no  husband,  and  our  Lord,  in  grave  confir- 
mation of  her  sad  confession,  unbared  to  her  the  secret  of 
a  loose  and  wanton  life.  She  had  had  five  husbands,  and 
he  whom  she  now  had  was  not  her  husband. 

She  saw  that  a  Propliet  was  before  her,  but  from  the 
facts  of  her  own  history — on  which  she  is  naturally  anx- 
ious to  linger  as  little  as  possible — her  eager  mind  flies  to 
the  one  great  question  wliich  was  daily  agitated  with  such 
fierce  passion  between  her  race  and  that  of  Him  to  whom 
she  spake,  and  which  lay  at  the  root  of  the  savage  ani- 
mosity with  which  they  treated  each  other.  Chance  had 
thrown  her  into  the  society  of  a  great  Teacher:  was  it  not 
a  good  opportunity  to  settle  forever  the  immense  discussion 
between  Jews  and  Samaritans  as  to  whether  Jerusalem  or 
Gerizim  was  the  holy  place  of  Palestine — Jerusalem,  where 
Solomon  had  built  his  temple;  or  Gerizim,  the  immemorial 
sanctuary,  where  Josh'ua  had  uttered  the  blessings,  and 
where  Abraham  had  been  ready  to  offer  up  his  son.  Point- 
ing to  the  summit  of  the  mountain  towering  eight  hundred 
feet  above  them,  and  crowned  by  the  ruins  of  the  ancient 
temple  of  Manasseh,  which  Hyrcanus  had  destroyed,  she 
put  her  dubious  question,  "Our  fathers  worshiped  in  this 
mountain,  and  ye  say  that  Jerusalem  is  the  place  where 
men  ought  to  worship?" 

Briefly,  and  merely  by  way  of  parenthesis.  He  resolved 


11 4  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

her  immediate  problem.  As  against  tiie  Samaritans,  tiie 
Jews  were  utiqaestionably  right.  Jerusalem  was  the  place 
Avhich  Gotl  had  ciiosen  ;  compared  to  tlie  hybrid  and  de- 
fective worship  of  Samaria,  Judaism  was  pure  and  true; 
bnt  before  and  after  touching  on  the  earthly  and  temporal 
controversy,  lie  uttered  to  her  the  mighty  and  memorable 
propliecy,  tliat  the  hour  was  coming,  yea  now  was,  when 
"neither  in  this  mountain  nor  yet  in  Jerusalem"  should 
true  worshipers  worship  the  Father,  but  in  every  place 
should  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

She  was  deeply  moved  aiui  touched;  but  how  could  she, 
at  the  mere  chance  word  of  an  unknown  stranger,  give  up 
the  strong  faith  in  which  she  and  her  fathers  had  been 
born  and  bred?  With  a  sigh  she  referred  the  final  settle- 
ment of  this  and  of  every  question  to  the  advent  of  the 
Messiah  ;  and  then  He  spake  the  simple,  awful  words — 
"I  that  speak  unto  thee  am  He." 

His  birtli  had  been  first  revealed  by  night  to  a  few  un- 
known and  ignorant  sliepherds  ;  the  first  full,  clear 
announcement  by  Himself  of  His  own  Messiahship  was 
made  by  a  well -side  in  the  weary  noon  to  a  single  obscure 
Samaritan  woman.  And  to  this  poor,  sinful,  ignorant 
stranger  had  been  uttered  words  of  immortal  significance, 
to  which  all  future  ages  would  listen,  as  it  were,  with 
hushed  breath  and  on  their  knees. 

Who  would  have  invented,  who  would  have  merely 
imagined,  things  so  unlike  the  thoughts  of  man  as  these? 

And  here  the  conversation  was  interrupted,  for  the  dis- 
ciples—  and  among  them  he  who  writes  the  record  — 
returned  to  their  Master.  Jacob's  well  is  dug  on  elevated 
ground,  on  a  spur  of  Gerizim,  and  in  a  part  of  the  plain 
unobstructed  and  unshaded  by  trees  or  buildings.  From  a 
distance  in  that  clear  air  they  had  seen  and  had  heard 
their  Master  in  long  and  earnest  conversation  with  a  soli- 
tary figure.  He  a  Jew,  He  a  Rabbi,  talking  to  ''  a  woman," 
and  that  woman  a  Samaritan,  and  that  Samaritan  a  sinner. 
Yet  they  dared  not  suggest  anything  to  Him  ;  they  dared 
not  question  Him.  The  sense  of  His  majesty,  the  love 
and  the  faith  His  very  presence  breathed,  overshadowed 
all  minor  doubts  or  wondering  curiosities. 

Meanwhile  the  woman,  forgetting  even  her  water-pot  in 
her  impetuous  amazement,  had  hurried  to  the  city  with  her 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SAMARIA.  115 

wondrous  story.     Here  was  One  wlio  had  revealed  to  her 
the  very  secrets  of  her  life.     Was  not  this  the  Messiah? 

Tlie  Samaritans — in  all  the  (lospel  notices  of  whom  we  de- 
tect sometliing  simpler  and  more  open  to  conviction  than  in 
the  Jews — instantly  flocked  out  of  the  city  at  her  words,  and 
while  they  were  seen  approaching,  the  disciples  urged  our 
Lord  to  eat,  for  the  hour  of  noon  was  now  past,  and  He 
had  had  a  weary  walk.  But  all  hunger  had  been  satisfied 
in  the  exaltation  of  His  ministry.  "  I  have  food  to  eat," 
He  said,  "  which  ye  know  not."  Might  they  not  have 
understood  that,  from  childhood  upward,  He  had  not 
lived  by  bread  alone?  But  again  we  find  the  same  dull, 
hard,  stolid  literalism.  Their  Scriptures,  the  very  idiom 
in  which  they  spoke,  were  full  of  vivid  metaphors,  yet  they 
could  hit  on  no  deeper  explanation  of  His  meaning  than 
that  perhaps  some  one  had  brought  Him  something  to  eat. 
How  hard  must  it  have  been  for  Him  thus,  at  every  turn, 
to  find  even  in  His  chosen  ones  such  a  strange  incapacity 
to  see  that  material  images  were  but  the  vehicles  for  deep 
spiritual  thoughts.  But  tliere  was  no  impatience  in  Hitn 
who  was  meek  and  lowly  of  heart.  "  My  meat,"  He  said, 
"is  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me,  and  to  finish  His 
work."  And  then,  pointing  to  the  inhabitants  of  Sichem, 
as  they  streamed  to  Him  over  the  plain,  he  continued, 
"  You  talk  of  there  yet  being  four  months  to  harvest. 
Look  at  these  fields,  white  already  for  the  spiritual  iiar- 
vest.  Ye  shall  be  the  joyful  reapers  of  the  harvest  which 
I  thus  have  sown  in  toil  and  pain  ;  but  I, the  sower,  rejoice 
in  the  thought  of  that  joy  to  come." 

The  personal  intercourse  with  Christ  convinced  many  of 
these  Samaritans  far  more  deeply  than  the  narrative  of  the 
woman  to  whom  He  had  first  revealed  Himself  ;  and 
graciously  acceding  to  their  request  that  He  would  stay 
with  them,  He  and  his  disciples  abode  there  two  days. 
Doubtless  it  was  the  teaching  of  those  two  days  that  had  a 
vast  share  in  the  rich  conversions  of  a  few  subsequent 
years. 


116  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

REJECTED    BY   THE    NAZARENES. 

Up  to  this  point  of  the  sacred  narrative  we  have  followed 
the  chronological  guidance  of  St.  John,  and  here,  for  the 
first  time,  we  are  seriously  met  by  tlie  difficult  question  as 
to  the  true  order  of  events  in  our  Lord's  ministry. 

Is  it  or  is  it  not  possible  to  construct  a  harmony  of  the 
Gospels  which  shall  remove  all  the  difficulties  created  by 
the  differing  order  in  wliich  the  Evangelists  narrate  the 
same  events,  and  by  the  confessedly  fragmentary  character 
of  their  records,  and  by  the  general  vagueness  of  the  notes 
of  time  which  they  give,  even  when  such  notes  are  not 
wholly  absent  ? 

It  is,  perhaps,  a  sufficient  answer  to  this  question  that 
scarcely  any  two  autliorities  agree  in  the  schemes  which 
have  been  elaborated  for  the  purpose.  A  host  of  writers- 
in  all  Christian  nations  have  devoted  years — some  of  them 
have  devoted  well  nigh  their  whole  lives — to  the  considera- 
tion of  this  and  of  similar  questions,  and  have  yet  failed 
to  come  to  any  agreement  or  to  command  any  general 
consent. 

To  enter  into  all  the  arguments  on  both  sides,  about  the 
numerous  disputed  points  which  must  be  settled  before  the 
problem  can  be  solved  would  be  to  undertake  a  task  which 
would  fill  many  volumes,  would  produce  no  final  settlement 
of  the  difficulty,  and  would  be  wholly  beyond  the  purpose 
before  ns.  What  I  have  done  is  carefully  to  consider  the 
dWiQldata,  and  without  entering  into  controversy  or  pi-etend- 
ing  to  remove  all  posssible  objections,  to  narrate  the  events  in 
that  order  which,  after  rei)eated  study,  seems  to  be  the  most 
intrinsically  probable,  with  due  reference  to  all  definite  m(\\- 
cations  of  time  which  the  Gospels  contain.  An  indisput- 
able or  cojivincing  harmony  of  the  Gospels  appears  to  me 
to  be  impossible,  and  as  a  necessary  consequence  it  can  be 
of  no  absolute  importance.  Had  it  been  essential  to  our 
comprehension  of  the  Saviour's  life  that  we  should  know 
more  exactly  the  times  and  places  where  the  years  of  His 
public  ministry  were  spent,  the  Christian  at  least  will  be- 


REJECTED  B  Y  THE  NA  ZA  RENES.  117 

lieve  that  such  kuowludge  would  not  have  been  withheld 
from  us. 

The  inspiration  which  guided  the  Evangelists  in  narrat- 
ing the  life  of  Christ  was  one  which  enabled  them  to  tell 
all  that  was  necessary  for  the  peace  and  well-being  of  our 
souls,  but  very  far  from  all  which  we  might  have  yearned 
to  know  for  the  gratification  of  our  curiosity,  or  even  the 
satisfaction  of  our  historic  interest.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to 
see  herein  a  fresh  indication  that  our  thoughts  must  be 
fixed  on  the  spiritual  more  than  on  the  material — on  Christ 
who  liveth  for  evermore,  and  is  with  us  always,  even  to  the 
end  of  the  world,  far  more  than  on  the  external  incidents 
of  that  human  life  which,  in  the  council  of  God's  will,  was 
the  appointed  means  of  man's  redemption.  We  shall  never 
know  all  that  we  could  wish  to  know  about 

"  The  sinless  years 
That  breatlied  beneath  the  Syrian  blue," 

but  we  will  still  be  the  children  of  God  and  the  disciples 
of  His  Christ  if  we  keep  His  sayings  and  do  the  things 
which  He  commanded. 

St.  John  tells  us  that  after  two  days'  abode  among  the 
open-minded  Samaritans  of  Sycliar,  Jesus  went  into 
Galilee  "for  He  himself  testified  that  a  prophet  hath  no 
honor  in  his  own  country,"  and  yet  he  continues,  that, 
"  When  he  was  come  into  Galilee,  the  Galilaeans  received 
him,  having  seen  all  the  things  that  He  did  at  Jerusalem 
at  the  feast;"  and  he  adds,  immediately  afterward,  that 
Jesus  came  again  into  Cana  of  Galilee,  and  there  healed 
the  nobleman's  son.  Tlie  pei-plexing  "for  "  seems  to  point 
to  one  of  those  suppressed  trains  of  thought  which  are  so 
frequent  in  St.  John.  I  understand  it  to  mean  that  at 
Xazareth,  in  his  own  home,  rejection  awaited  Him  in  spite 
of  the  first  gleam  of  transient  acceptance:  and  that  for  this 
rejection  he  was  not  unprepared, /or  it  was  one  of  His  dis- 
tinct statements  that  "in  His  own  country  a  Prophet  is 
dishonored." 

It  was  not  the  object  of  St.  John  to  dwell  on  the  min- 
istry in  Galilee,  which  had  been  already  narrated  by  the 
Synoptists;  accordingly  it  is  from  St.  Luke  that  wo  receive 
the  fullest  account  of  our  Lord's  first  public  act  in  His 
native  town. 


1 1  g  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

It  appears  that  Jesns  did  not  go  direct  from  Sychar  to 
Nazareth.  On  his  way  (unless  we  take  Luke  iv.  15  for  a 
general  and  unchronological  reference)  He  taught  continu- 
ously,, and  with  general  admiration  and  acceptance  in  the 
synagogues  of  Galilee.  In  this  way  lie  arrived  at  Nazareth, 
and  according  to  His  usual  custom,  for  He  had  doubtless 
been  a  silent  worshiper  in  that  humble  place  Sabbath 
after  Sabbath  from  boyhood  upward,  He  entered  into  the 
synagogue  on  the  Sabbath  day. 

Tliere  was  but  one  synagogue  in  the  little  town,  and 
probably  it  resembled  in  all  respects,  except  in  its  humbler 
aspect  and  materials,  the  synagogues  of.  wiiich  we  see  the 
ruins  at  Tell  Hum  and  Irbid.  It  was  simply  a  rectangular 
hall,  with  a  pillared  portico  of  Grecian  architecture,  of 
-which  the  further  extremity  (where  the  "sanctuary"  was 
placed)  usually  pointed  toward  Jerusalem,  which,  since  the 
time  of  Solomon,  had  always  been  the  hibleli — i.  e.,  the 
consecrated  direction — of  a  Jew's  worship,  as  Mecca  is  of 
a  Mohammedan's.  In  wealthier  places  it  was  built  of 
white  marble,  and  sculptured  on  the  outside  in  alto- 
relievo,  with  rude  ornaments  of  vine-leaves  and  grapes,  or 
the  budding  rod  and  the  pot  of  manna.  On  entering,  there 
were  seats  on  one  side  for  the  men;  on  the  other,  behind  a 
lattice,  were  seated  the  women,  shrouded  in  their  long 
veils.  At  one  end  was  the  tebliah  or  ark  of  painted  wood, 
which  contained  the  sacred  scriptures;  and  at  one  side  was 
the  Mma,  or  elevated  seat  for  the  reader  or  preacher. 
.Clergy,  properly  speaking,  tiiere  were  none,  but  in  the 
chief  seats  were  the  ten  or  more  hatlanini,  "men  of 
leisure,"  or  leading  elders;  and  pre-eminent  among  these 
the  chief  of  the  synagogue,  or  rosli  hak-kenesetli.  In- 
ferior in  rank  to  these  were  the  chazzdn,  or  clerk,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  keep  the  sacred  books  ;  the  slieliach,  cor- 
responding to  our  sacristan  or  verger;  and  the  parnashn, 
or  shepherds,  who  in  some  respects  acted  as  deacons. 

The  service  of  the  synagogue  was  not  unlike  our  own. 
After  the  prayers  two  lessons  were  always  read,  one  from 
the  Law  called  para.^JiaJi.  and  one  from  tlie  Prophets  called 
Jiaphtarah;  and  as  tliei-e  were  no  ordained  ministers  to  con- 
duct the  services — for  the  office  of  priests  and  Levites  at 
Jerusalem  was  wholly  different — these  lessoiis  might  not 
only  be  read  by  any  competent  j^erson  who   icoj'ivod   per- 


REJECTED  BY  TEK  NAZARENE8.  119 

mission  from  the  ro^U  liak-keneseth,  but  he  was  eveu  at 
liberty  to  add  his  own  midrash,  or  comment. 

The  reading  of  the  parashah,  or  lesson  from  the 
Pentateuch,  was  apparently  over  when  Jesus  ascended  the 
steps  of  the  bima.  Recognizing  His  claim  to  perform  the 
honorable  function  of  a  maphtir  or  reader,  the  chazzdn 
drew  aside  the  silk  curtain  of  the  painted  ark  which  con- 
tained the  sacred  manuscripts,  and  handed  Him  the 
megillah  or  roll  of  the  Prophet  Isaiah,  which  contained 
the  hapMarah  of  the  day.  Our  Lord  unrolled  the  volume, 
and  found  the  well-known  passage  in  Isaiah  Ixi.  The 
whole  congregation  stood  up  to  listen  to  Him.  The  length 
of  the  hajMarah  might  be  from  three  to  twenty-one 
verses ;  but  Jesus  only  read  the  first  and  part  of  the 
second,  stopping  short,  in  a  spirit  of  tenderness,  before 
the  stern  expression,  "  The  day  of  vengeance  of  our  God," 
so  that  the  gracious  words,  "  The  acceptable  year  of  the 
Lord,"  might  rest  last  upon  their  ears  and  form  the  text 
of  His  discourse.  He  then  rolled  up  the  megillah,  handed 
it  back  to  the  chazzdn,  and,  as  was  customary  among  the 
Jews,  sat  down  to  deliver  His  sermon. 

The  passage  which  He  had  read,  whether  part  of  the 
ordinary  lesson  for  the  day  or  chosen  by  Himself,  was  a 
very  remarkable  one,  and  it  must  have  derived  additional 
grandeur  and  solemnity  from  the  lips  of  Him  in  whom  it 
was  fulfilled.  Every  eye  in  the  synagogue  was  fixed  upon 
Him  with  a  gaze  of  intense  earnestness,  and  we  may 
imagine  the  thrill  of  awful  expectation  and  excitement 
which  passed  through  tlie  hearts  of  the  listeners,  as,  in  a 
discourse  of  which  the  subject  only  is  preserved  for  us  by 
the  Evangelist,  He  developed  the  theme  that  He  was  Him- 
self the  Messiah,  of  whom  the  great  Prophet  had  sung 
700  years  before.  His  words  were  full  of  a  grace,  an 
authority,  a  power  which  was  at  first  irresistible,  and 
which  commanded  the  involuntary  astonishment  of  all. 
But  as  He  proceeded  He  became  conscious  of  a  change. 
The  spell  of  his  wisdom  and  sweetness  was  broken,  as 
these  rude  and  violent  Nazarenes  began  to  realize  the  full 
meaning  of  His  divine  claims.  It  was  custonuiry  with  the 
Jews  in  the  worship  of  their  synagogue  to  give  full  vent  to 
their  feelings,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Jesus  became 
sensible  of  indi^-nant  and   rebellious  murmurs.     He  saw 


120  TIIK  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

that  those  eager  glittering  eyes,  wliich  had  been  fixed  upon 
Him  in  the  first  excitenienl  of  attention,  were  beginning 
to  glow  with  the  malignant  light  of  Jealousy  and  hatred. 
''Is  not  this  ihc  (•((rj)enfer?  is  He  not  tiie  brother  of  work- 
men like  himself — James  and  Joses  and  Simon  and  Judas — 
and  of  sisters  who  live  among  us?  do  not  even  His  own 
family  disbelieve  in  him?"  Such  were  the  whispers  which 
began  to  be  buzzed  about  among  the  audience.  This  was 
uo  young  and  learned  Rabbi  from  the  schools  of  Gamaliel 
or  Shanimai,  and  yet  he  spoke  with  an  authoi'ity  which 
not  even  the  great  scribes  assumed  !  Even  a  Hillel,  when 
his  doctrines  failed  to  pursuade,  could  only  secure  con- 
viction by  appealing  to  the  previous  authority  of  a  Shemaia 
or  an  Abtalion.  But  tJiis  teacher  appealed  to  no  one — 
tliis  teacher  who  liad  but  been  their  village  cai'penter ! 
What  business  had  7/e  to  teach?  Whence  could  he  know 
letters,  having  never  learned? 

Jesus  did  not  leave  unobserved  the  change  which  was 
passing  over  the  feelings  of  His  audience.  He  at  once 
told  them  that  He  7va.s  the  Jesus  whom  they  described, 
and  yet  with  no  abatement  of  His  Messianic  gi'andeur. 
Their  hardness  and  unbelief  luid  already  depressed  His 
spirit  before  He  had  even  entered  the  synagogue.  The 
implied  slur  on  the  humility  of  His  previous  life  He 
passes  by;  it  was  too  essentially  provincial  and  innately 
vulgar  to  need  correction,  since  any  Nazarene  of  sufficient 
honesty  might  have  reminded  himself  of  the  yet  humbler 
origin  of  the  great  herdsman  Amos.  Nor  would  he  notice 
the  base  hatred  Avhich  weak  and  bad  men  always  contract 
for  those  who  shame  them  by  the  silent  superiority  of 
noble  lives.  But  He  was  aware  of  another  feeling  in  their 
minds;  a  demand  upon  Him  for  some  stupendous  vindi- 
cation of  his  claims;  a  jealousy  that  He  should  have  per- 
formed miracles  at  Cana,  and  given  an  impression  of  His 
power  at  Capernaum,  to  say  nothing  of  what  He  had  done 
and  taught  at  Jerusalem — and  yet  that  He  should  have 
vouchsafed  no  special  nuirk  of  His  favor  among  them.  He 
knew  that  the  taunting  and  sceptical  proverb,  "Physician, 
heal  thyself,"  was  in  their  hearts,  and  all  Imt  on  their 
lips.  But  to  show  them  most  clearly  that  He  was  some- 
thing more  than  they — that  He  was  no  mere  Nazarene, 
like   any   other  who  might  have  lived   among    them    for 


REJECTED  BY  THE  NAZARENES.  121 

thirty  years,  and  that  He  belonged  not  to  them  but  to  the 
world — He  reminds  them  that  miracles  are  not  to  be 
limited  by  geographical  relationships — that  Elijah  had 
only  saved  the  Pha3nician  widow  of  Sarepta,  and  Elisha 
only  healed  the  hostile  leper  of  Syria. 

\Miat  then?  were  they  in  His  estimation  (and  He  but 
the  "carpenter  I")  no  better  than  Gentiles  and  lepers  ? 
This  was  the  climax  of  all  that  was  intolerable  to  them, 
as  coming  from  a  fellow-townsman  whom  they  wished  to 
rank  among  themselves  ;  and  at  these  words  their  long- 
suppressed  fury  burst  into  a  flame.  The  speaker  was  no 
longer  interrupted  by  a  murmur  of  disapprobation,  but  by 
a  roar  of  wrath.  With  one  of  those  bursts  of  sanguinary 
excitement  which  characterized  that  strange,  violent,  im- 
passioned people — a  people  whose  minds  are  swept  by 
storms  as  sudden  as  those  which  in  one  moment  lash  into 
fury  the  mirror  surface  of  their  lake — they  rose  in 
a  body,  tore  Him  out  of  the  city,  and  then  dragged  Him  to 
the  brow  of  the  hill  above.  The  little  town  of  Nazareth 
nestles  in  the  southern  hollows  of  that  hill ;  many  a  mass 
of  precipitous  rock  lies  imbedded  on  its  slopes,  and  it  is 
prol)aljle  that  the  hill-side  may  have  been  far  more  steep 
and  [jrecipitoiis  two  thousand  years  ago.  To  one  of  these 
rocky  escarpments  they  dragged  Him,  in  order  to  fling 
Him  headlong  down. 

But  His  hour  was  not  yet  come,  and  they  were  saved 
from  the  consummation  of  a  crime  which  would  have 
branded  them  with  everlasting  infamy.  "  He  passed 
through  the  midst  of  them,  and  went  on  his  way."  There 
is  no  need  to  suppose  an  actual  miracle;  still  less  to  imagine 
a  secret  and  sudden  escape  into  the  narrow  and  tortuous 
lanes  of  the  town.  Perhaps  His  silence,  perhaps  the  calm 
nobleness  of  His  bearing,  perhaps  the  dauntless  innocence 
of  His  gaze  overawed  them.  Apart  from  anything  super- 
natural, there  seems  to  have  been  in  tlie  presence  of  Jesus 
a  spell  of  mystery  and  of  majesty  which  even  His  most 
ruthless  and  hardened  enemies  acknowledged,  and  before 
whicli  they  involuntarily  bowed.  It  was  to  this  that  He 
owed  His  escape  when  the  maddened  Jews  in  the  Temple 
took  up  stones  to  stone  Him  ;  it  was  this  that  made  the 
l.'old  ;ind  bigoted  officers  of  the  Sanhedrin  unable  to  arrest 
lliin  as  He  tauglit  in   public  during  the  Feast  of  Taber- 


122  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

iiiicles  ;it  Jerusalem;  it  was  tliis  that  made  the  armed  band 
of  llis  enemies,  at  His  mere  look,  fall  before  llim  to  the 
ground  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane.  Suddenly,  quietly 
He  asserted  His  freedom,  waved  aside  His  captors,  and 
overawing  them  by  His  simple  glance,  passed  through  their 
midst  unharmed.  Similar  events  have  occurred  in  history, 
and  continue  still  to  occur.  There  is  something  in  defence- 
less and  yet  dauntless  dignity  that  calms  even  the  fury  of  a 
mob.  "  They  stood — stopped — inquired— were  ashamed — 
fled — separated," 

And  so  He  left  them,  never  apparently  to  return  again  ; 
never,  if  we  are  right  in  the  view  here  taken,  to  preach 
again  in  their  little  synagogue.  Did  any  feelings  of  merely 
human  regret  weigh  down  His  soul  while  He  was  wending 
His  weary  steps  down  the  steep  hill-slope  toward  Cana  of 
Galilee?  Did  any  tear  start  in  His  eyes  unbidden  as  He 
stood,  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  to  gaze  from  thence  on 
the  rich  plain  of  Esdraelon,  and  the  purple  heights  of 
Carmel,  and  the  white  sands  that  fringe  tiie  blue  waters  of 
the  Mediterranean  ?  Were  there  any  from  whom  He 
grieved  to  be  severed,  in  the  green  secluded  valley  where 
His  manhood  had  labored,  and  His  childhood  played  ? 
Did  He  cast  one  longing,  lingering  glance  at  the  humble 
home  in  which  for  so  many  years  He  had  toiled  as  the  vil- 
lage carpenter?  Did  no  companion  of  His  innocent  boy- 
hood, no  friend  of  His  sinless  youth,  accoinpany  Him  with 
awe,  and  pity,  and  regret?  Such  questions  are  not,  surely, 
unnatural ;  not,  surely,  irreverent ; — but  they  are  not  an- 
swered. Qf  all  merely  human  emotions  of  His  heart, 
except  so  far  as  they  directly  affect  His  mission  upon 
earth,  the  Gospels  are  silent.  We  know  only  that  hence- 
forth other  friends  awaited  Him  away  from  boorish  Naza- 
reth, among  the  gentle  and  noble-hearted  fishermen  of 
Bethsaida ;  and  that  thenceforth  His  home,  so  far  as  He 
had  a  home,  was  in  the  little  city  of  Capernaum,  beside  the 
sunlit  waters  of  the  Galilsean  Lake. 


BEGINNINO  OF  THE  GALILEAN  MINISTRY.        123 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   BEGINNING    OF   THE   GALILxEAN    MINISTRY. 

Rejected  of  Nazareth,  our  Lord  naturally  turned  to  the 
neighboring  Caiia,  where  His  first  miracle  had  been 
Avrought  to  gladden  friends.  He  had  not  long  arrived  when 
an  officer  from  the  neighboring  court  of  Herod  Antipas, 
hearing  of  His  arrival,  came  and  urgently  entreated  that 
He  would  descend  to  Capernaum  and  heal  his  dying  son. 
Although  our  Lord  never  set  foot  in  Tiberias,  yet  the  voice 
of  John  had  more  than  once  been  listened  to  with  alarm 
and  reverence  in  the  court  of  the  voluptuous  king.  We 
know  that  Manaen,  the  foster-brother  of  Herod,  was  in 
after  days  a  Christian,  and  we  know  that  among  the 
women  who  ministered  to  Christ  of  their  substance  was 
Joanna,  the  wife  of  Chuza,  Herod's  steward.  As  this 
courtier  {BadiXiudi)  believed  in  Christ  witli  his  wliole 
house,  in  consequence  of  tlie  miracle  now  wi'ought,  it  has 
been  conjectured  with  some  probability  that  it  was  none 
other  than  Chuza  himself. 

The  imperious  urgency  of  his  request,  a  request  which 
appears  at  first  to  have  had  but  little  root  in  spiritual 
conviction,  needed  a  momentary  check.  It  was  neces- 
sary for  Jesus  to  show  that  he  was  no  mere  hakeem,  no 
mere  benevolent  physician,  ready  at  any  time  to  work 
local  cures,  and  to  place  his  supernatural  powers  at  the 
beck  and  call  of  any  suiferer  who  might  come  to  him  as  a 
desperate  resource.  He  at  once  rebuked  the  spirit  which 
demanded  mere  signs  and  prodigies  as  the  sole  possible 
ground  of  faith.  But  yielding  to  the  father's  passionate 
earnestness,  He  dismissed  him  with  the  assurance  that  his 
son  lived.  The  interview  had  taken  place  at  the  seventli 
hour — i.e.,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  day.  Even  in  the  short 
November  day  it  would  have  been  still  possible  for  the 
father  to  get  to  Capernaum;  for  if  Cana  be,  as  we  believe, 
Kefr  Kenna,  it  is  not  more  than  five  liours'  distance  from 
Capernaum.  But  the  father's  soul  had  been  calmed  by 
faith  in  Christ's  promise,  and  he  slept  that  night  at  some 
intermediate  spot  upon  the  road.     The  next  day  his  slaves 


124  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

met  him,  and  told  him  that,  at  the  very  hour  when  Jesus 
had  spoken,  tlie  fever  had  left  his  son.  This  was  the 
second  time  that  Christ  had  signalized  his  arrival  in  Gali- 
lee by  the  performance  of  a  conspicuous  miracle.  The 
position  of  the  courtier  caused  it  to  be  widely  known,  and 
it  contributed,  no  doubt,  to  that  joyous  and  enthusiastic 
welcome  which  our  Lord  received  during  that  bright 
early  period  of  His  ministry,  which  has  been  beautifully 
called  the  "Galilrean  spring." 

At  this  point  we  are  again  met  by  difficulties  in  the 
chronology,  whicii  are  not  only  serious,  but  to  the  certain 
solution  of  which  there  appears  to  be  no  clew.  If  we 
follow  exclusively  the  order  given  by  one  Evangelist,  we 
appear  to  run  counter  to  the  scattered  indications  which 
may  be  found  in  another.  That  it  should  be  so  will  cause 
no  difficulty  to  the  candid  mind.  The  Evangelists  do  not 
profess  to  be  scrupulously  guided  by  chronological  se- 
quence. The  pictures  whicli  they  give  of  the  main  events 
in  the  life  of  Christ  are  simple  and  harmonious,  and  that 
they  should  be  presented  in  an  informal,  and  what,  with 
reference  to  mere  literary  considerations,  would  be  called 
inartistic  manner,  is  not  only  in  accordance  with  the 
position  of  the  writers,  but  is  an  additional  confirmation 
of  our  conviction  that  we  are  reading  the  records  of  a  life 
which,  in  its  majesty  and  beauty,  infinitely  transcended 
t!ie  capacities  of  invention  or  imagination  in  the  simple 
and  faithful  annalists  by  whom  it  was  recorded. 

It  was  not,  as  we  have  already  observed,  the  object  of 
St.  John  to  narrate  the  Galilfean  ministry,  the  existence 
of  which  he  distinctly  implies  (vii.  3,  4),  but  which  had 
already  been  fully  recorded.  Circumstances  had  given  to 
the  Evangelist  a  minute  and  profound  knowledge  of  the 
ministry  in  Jud;Ba,  whicii  is  by  the  others  presupposed, 
though  not  narrated.  At  this  point  accordingly  (iv.  54) 
he  breaks  off,  and  only  continues  the  thread  of  his  narra- 
tive at  the  return  of  Jesus  to  "  a  "  or  "  the  "  feast  of  the 
Jews  (v.  1).  If  the  feast  here  alluded  to  were  the  feast  of 
Pui'im,  as  we  shall  see  is  probably  the  case,  then  St.  John 
here  passes  over  the  history  of  several  months.  We  fall 
back,  therefore,  on  the  Synoptic  Gospels  for  the  events  of 
the  intervening  ministry  on  the  shores  of  Gennesareth. 
And  since  we  have  often  to  choose  between  the  order  of 


BEO INNING  OF  THE  OALTLyEAN  MINISTRY.        ]25 

events  as  narrated  by  the  three  Evangelists,  we  must  here 
/oUow  that  given  by  St.  Luke,  both  because  it  appears  to 
us  iutinsically  probable,  and  because  St.  Luke,  unlike 
the  two  previous  Evangelists,  seems  to  have  been  guided, 
so  far  as  his  information  allowed,  by  chronological  consid- 
erations. 

It  seems  then,  that  after  leaving  Cana,  our  Lord  went 
at  once  to  Capernaum,  accompanied  apparently  by  His 
mother  and  His  brethren,  and  made  that  town  His  home. 
His  sisters  were  probably  married,  and  did  not  leave  their 
native  Nazareth;  but  the  dreadful  insult  which  Jesus  had 
received  would  have  been  alone  sufficient  to  influence  His 
family  to  leave  the  place,  even  if  they  did  not  directly 
share  in  the  odium  and  persecution  which  His  words  iiad 
caused.  Perhaps  the  growing  alienation  between  Him- 
self and  them  may  have  been  due,  in  part,  to  this  circum- 
stance. They  must  have  felt,  and  we  know  that  they  did 
feel,  a  deeply  seated  annoyance,  if,  refusing  to  admit  the 
full  awfulness  of  His  mission,  and  entirely  disapproving 
the  form  of  its  manifestation,  tliey  yet  felt  themselves  in- 
volved in  hatred  and  ruin  as  a  direct  consequence  of  His 
actions.  Certain  it  is  that,  although  apparently  they  were 
living  at  Capernaum,  their  home  was  not  His;  home. 
Home,  in  the  strict  sense.  He  had  none;  but  the  house  of 
which  He  made  ordinary  use  appears  to  have  been  that 
which  belonged  to  His  chief  apostle.  It  is  true  that  Simon 
and  Andrew  are  said  to  have  belonged  to  Bethsaida,  but 
they  may  easily  have  engaged  the  use  of  a  house  at  Caper- 
naum, belonging  to  Peter's  mother-in-law;  or,  since  Beth- 
saida is  little  more  than  a  suburb  or  part  of  Capernaum, 
they  may  have  actually  moved  for  the  convenience  of  their 
Master  from  the  one  place  to  the  other. 

The  first  three  Evangelists  have  given  us  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  the  Lord's  first  Sabbath  at  Capernaum,  and  it  has 
for  us  an  intrinsic  interest,  because  it  gives  us  one  remark- 
able specimen  of  the  manner  in  which  He  spent  the  days 
of  His  active  ministry.  It  is  the  best  commentary  on  that 
epitome  of  His  life  which  presents  it  to  us  in  its  most 
splendid  origimility — that  "  He  went  about  doing  good." 
It  is  the  point  which  the  rarest  and  noblest  of  His  follow- 
ers have  found  it  most  difficult  to  imitate  ;  it  is  the  point 
in  which  His  life  transcended  most  absolutely  the  ideal  of 


120  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  attainments  of  Ilis  very  greatest  forerunners.  The 
seclusion  of  tlie  hermit,  tlie  self-maceration  of  the  ascetic, 
the  rapture  of  the  mystic — all  these  are  easier  and  more 
common  than  the  unwearied  toil  of  a  self-renouncing  love. 

The  day  began  in  the  synagogue,  perhaps  in  the  very 
building  which  the  Jews  owed  to  the  munificence  of  the 
centurion  proselyte.  If  Capernaum  were  indeed  Tell 
Hum,  then  the  white  marble  ruins  which  still  stand  on  a 
little  eminence  above  the  sparkling  lake,  and  still  encum- 
ber the  now  wast(}  and  desolate  site  of  the  town  with  their 
fragments  of  elaborate  sculi)ture,  may  possibly  be  the 
ruins  of  this  very  building.  The  synagogue,  which  is  not 
very  large,  must  have  been  densely  crowded  ;  and  to  teach 
an  earnest  and  expectant  crowd — to  teach  as  He  taught, 
not  in  dull,  dead,  conventional  formulte,  but  with  tlioughts 
that  breathed  and  words  that  burned — to  teach  as  they  do 
who  are  swayed  by  the  emotion  of  the  hour,  while  heart 
speaks  to  heart — must  have  required  no  slight  energy  of 
life,  must  have  involved  no  little  exhaustion  of  the  phys- 
ical powers.  But  this  was  not  all.  While  He  was  speaking, 
Avhile  the  audience  of  simple-hearted  yet  faithful,  intelli- 
gent, warlike  people  were  listening  to  Him  in  mute  aston- 
ishment, hanging  on  His  lips  with  deep  and  I'everential 
admiration — suddenly  the  deep  silence  was  broken  by  the 
wild  cries  and  obscene  ravings  of  one  of  those  unhappy 
wretches  who  were  universally  believed  to  be  under  the 
influence  of  impure  spirits,  and  who — in  the  absence  of 
any  retreat  for  such  sufferers — had,  perhaps,  slipped  in 
unobserved  among  the  throng.  Even  the  poor  demoniac, 
in  the  depths  of  his  perturbed  and  degraded  nature,  had 
felt  the  haunting  spell  of  that  pure  presence,  of  that  holy 
voice,  of  that  divine  and  illumiuating  message.  But,  dis- 
torted as  his  whole  moral  being  was,  he  raved  against  it, 
as  though  by  the  voices  of  the  evil  demons  who  possessed 
him,  and  while  he  saluted  "Jesus  the  Nazarene''as  the 
Holy  One  of  God,  yet,  with  agonies  of  terror  and  hatred, 
demanded  to  be  let  alone,  and  not  to  be  destroyed. 

Then  followed  a  scene  of  thrilling  excitement.  Turning 
to  the  furious  and  raving  sufferer,  recognizing  the  duality 
of  his  consciousness,  addressing  the  devil  which  seemed  to 
be  forcing  from  him  these  terrified  ejaculations,  Jesus 
said,  "Hold  thy  peace,  and  come  out  of  him."     He  never 


BBOtNNlNO  OF  THE  GALILjEAN  MINISTRY.       127 

accepted  or  tolerated  tliis  ghastl}^  testimony  to  Ilis  origin 
and  office.  The  calm,  the  sweetness,  the  power  of  the 
divine  utterance  were  irresistible.  The  demoniac  fell  to 
the  ground  in  a  fearful  paroxysm,  screaming  and  convulsed. 
But  it  was  soon  over.  The  man  arose  cured  ;  his  whole 
look  and  bearing  showed  that  he  was  dispossessed  of  the 
overmastering  influence,  and  was  now  in  his  right  mind. 
A  miracle  so  gracious  and  so  commanding  had  never  before 
been  so  strikingly  manifested,  and  the  worshipers  separated 
with  emotion  of  indescribable  wonder. 

Eising  from  the  seat  of  the  maplitlr  in  the  synagogue, 
Christ  retired  into  the  house  of  Simon.  Here  again  he 
was  met  by  the  strong  appeal  of  sickness  and  suffering. 
Simon,  whom  he  had  already  bound  to  Himself  on  the 
banks  of  the  Jordan,  by  the  first  vague  call  to  his  future 
Apostolate,  was  a  married  man,  and  his  wife's  mother  lay 
stricken  down  by  a  violent  access  of  fever.  One  request 
from  the  afflicted  family  was  sufficient:  there  was  no  need, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  more  worldly  nobleman,  for  importu- 
nate entreaty.  He  stood  over  her;  He  took  her  by  the 
hand;  He  raised  her  up;  He  rebuked  the  fever;  His  voice, 
stirring  her  whole  being,  dominated  over  the  sources  of 
disease,  and,  restored  instantaneously  to  health,  she  rose 
and  busied  herself  about  the  household  duties. 

Possibly  the  strictness  of  observance  which  marked  the 
Jewish  Sabbath  secured  for  our  Lord  a  brief  interval  for 
refreshment ;  but  no  sooner  did  the  sun  begin  to  set,  than 
the  eager  multitude,  barely  waiting  for  the  full  close  of 
the  Sabbath  hours,  began  to  seek  His  aid.  The  whole 
city  came  densely  thronging  round  the  doors  of  the 
humble  home,  bringing  with  them  their  demoniacs  and 
their  diseased.  What  a  strange  scene!  There  lay  the 
limpid  lake,  reflecting  in  pale  rose-color  the  last  flush  of 
sunset  that  gilded  the  western  hills  ;  and  here,  amid  the 
peace  of  Nature,  was  exposed,  in  hideous  variety,  the  sick- 
ness and  misery  of  man,  while  the  stillness  of  the  Sabbath 
twilight  was  broken  by  the  shrieks  of  demoniacs  who  testi- 
fied to  the  Presence  of  the  Son  of  God. 

"  A  lazar -house  it  seemed,  wherein  were  laid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased  ;  all  maladies 
Of  ghastly  spasm,  and  racking  tortures,  qualms 


128  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Of  lipart-sick  aj^ony,  all  fevtirnus  kinds, 
Dpiuoniac  frenzy,  moping  melancholy 
And  uioonstrnck  madness  ;" 

aud  amid  them  all,  not 

' '  Despair 
Tended  the  sick,  busiest  from  couch  to  couch, 
And  over  them  triumphant  Death  his  dart 
Shook,"     .     .     . 

but  far  into  the  deepening  dusk,  the  only  person  there 
who  was  nnexcited  and  unalarmed — hushing  by  His  voice 
the  delirum  of  madness  and  the  screams  of  epilepsy, 
touching  disease  into  health  again  by  laying  on  each  un- 
happy and  tortured  sufferer  His  pure  and  gentle  hands — 
moved,  in  His  love  and  tenderness,  the  young  Prophet  of 
Nazareth,  the  Christ,  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  Un- 
alarmed indeed,  and  nnexcited,  but  not  free  from  sorrow 
and  suffering.  For  sympathy  is  nothing  else  than  a  fel- 
low-feeling with  others :  a  sensible  participation  in  their 
joy  or  woe.  And  Jesus  was  touched  with  a  feeling  of 
their  infirmities.  Those  cries  pierced  to  His  inmost  heart; 
Ihe  groans  and  sighs  of  all  that  collective  misery  filled  His 
whole  soul  with  pity;  He  bled  for  them  ;  He  suffered  with 
them  ;  their  agonies  with  His  ;  so  that  the  Evangelist  St. 
Matthew  recalls  and  echoes  in  this  place,  with  a  slight 
difference  of  language,  the  words  of  Isaiah,  'SSurely  He 
bore  our  griefs  and  carried  our  sorrows." 

The  fame  of  that  marvelous  day  rang  through  all  Galilee 
and  Perffia,  and  even  to  the  farthest  parts  of  Syria  ;  and 
we  might  well  have  imagined  that  the  wearied  Saviour 
would  have  needed  a  long  repose.  But  to  Him  the  dear- 
est and  best  repose  was  solitude  and  silence,  where  He 
might  be  alone  and  undisturbed  with  His  heavenly  Father. 
The  little  plain  of  Gennesareth  was  still  covered  with  the 
deep  darkness  which  precedes  the  dawn,  when,  unobserved 
by  all,  Jesus  rose  and  went  away  to  a  desert  place,  and 
there  refreshed  His  spirit  with  quiet  prayer.  Although 
the  work  which  He  was  sent  to  do  obliged  Him  often  to 
spend  His  days  amid  thronging  and  excited  multitudes.  He 
did  not  love  the  tumult,  and  avoided  even  the  admiration 
and  gratitude  of  those  who  felt  in  His  presence  a  spring  of 
life.     But   He  was  not  suffered  th.us  long  to  remain,  eve'\ 


BEOINNINO  OF  THE  GALILEAN  MINISTRY.        129 

for  a  brief  period,  in  rest  and  seclusion.  The  nmlLitude 
sought  Him  persistently  ;  Simou  and  his  friends  almost 
hunted  for  Him  in  their  eager  desire  to  see  and  to  hear. 
They  even  wished  to  detain  Him  among  them  by  gentle 
force.  But  He  quietly  resisted  their  importunity.  It  was 
not  His  object  to  become  the  center  of  an  admiring  popu- 
lace, or  to  spend  His  whole  time  in  working  miracles, 
which,  thougli  they  were  deeds  of  mercy,  were  mainly  in- 
tended to  open  their  hearts  to  His  diviner  teaching. 
His  blessings  were  not  to  be  confined  to  Capernaum;  Dal- 
manutha,  Magdala,  Bethsaida,  Chorazin,  were  all  near  at 
hand.  '•'  Let  us  go,"  He  said,  to  "  the  adjoining  country 
towns  to  preach  the  kingdom  of  God  there  also;  for  there- 
fore am  I  sent." 

It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  Jesus  put  His  inten- 
tion into  instant  effect.  It  seems  as  if  He  so  far  yielded 
to  the  anxiety  of  the  multitude  as  to  give  them  one  more 
address  before  He  set  forth  to  preach  in  that  populous 
neighborhood.  He  bent  His  steps  toward  the  shore,  and 
probably  to  the  spot  where  the  little  boats  of  His  earliest 
disciples  were  anchored  near  the  beach  of  hard  white  sand 
which  lines  the  water-side  at  Bethsaida.  At  a  little  dis- 
tance behind  Him  followed  an  ever-gathering  concourse  of 
people  from  all  the  neighborhood  ;  and  while  He  stopped 
to  speak  to  tliem,  the  two  pairs  of  fisher-brethren,  Simou 
and  Andrew,  and  James  and  John,  pursued  the  toils  by 
wliich  they  earned  their  daily  bread.  While  Jesus  had 
retired  to  rest  for  a  few  short  hours  of  the  night,  Simon 
and  his  companions,  impelled  by  the  necessities  of  a  lot 
wliich  they  seem  to  have  borne  with  noble-minded  cheer- 
fulness, had  been  engciged  in  fishing  ;  and  having  been 
wholly  unsuccessful,  two  of  tliem,  seated  on  the  shore  — 
probably,  in  that  clear,  still  atmosphere,  within  hearing  of 
His  voice — were  occupying  their  time  in  washing, 
and  two,  seated  in  their  boat  with  their  hired 
servants,  and  Zebedee,  their  father,  were  mending 
their  nets.  As  Jesus  spoke,  the  multitude  —  some  iu 
their  desire  to  catch  every  syllable  that  fell  from  the 
lips  of  Him  who  spake  as  never  man  spake,  and  some 
in  their  longing  to  touch  Him,  and  so  be  healed  of  what- 
ever plagues  they  had— thronged  upon  him  closer  and 
closer,  impeding  His  movements  with  dangerous  and  un- 


130  TJTK  LTFE  OF  CHRIST. 

seemly  pressure.  He  therefore  beckoned  to  Simon  to  get 
into  his  boat  and  push  it  ashore,  so  that  He  might  step  on 
board  of  it,  and  teach  the  people  from  thence.  Seated  in 
this  pleasant  pulpit,  safe  from  the  inconvenient  contact 
with  tlie  multitude.  He  taught  them  from  the  little  boat 
as  it  rocked  on  the  blue  ripples,  sparkling  in  the  morning 
sun.  And  when  His  sermon  was  over.  He  thought  not  of 
Himself  and  of  His  own  fatigue,  but  of  His  poor  and  dis- 
appointed disciples.  He  knew  that  they  had  toiled  in 
vain  ;  He  had  observed  that  even  while  He  spoke  they 
had  been  preparing  for  some  future  and  more  prosperous 
expedition  ;  and  with  a  sympathy  which  never  omitted  an 
act  of  kindness,  He  ordered  Peter  to  push  out  his  boat  into 
the  deep,  and  all  of  them  to  cast  out  their  nets  once  more. 
Peter  was  in  a  despondent  mood  ;  but  the  mere  word  of 
One  whom  he  so  deeply  reverenced,  and  whose  power  he 
liad  already  witnessed,  was  sufficient.  And  his  faith  was 
rewarded.  Instantly  a  vast  haul  of  fishes  crowded  into  the 
nets. 

A  busy  scene  followed.  The  instinct  of  work  first  pre- 
vailed. Simon  and  Andrew  beckoned  to  Zebedee  and  his 
sons  and  servants  to  come  in  their  boat  and  lielp  to  save 
the  miraculous  draught  and  straining  nets  ;  both  boats 
were  filled  to  the  gunwale  with  the  load  ;  and  at  the  first 
moment  that  the  work  was  finished,  and  Peter  recognized 
the  whole  force  of  the  miracle,  he  falls,  with  his  usual 
eager  impetuosity,  at  his  Master's  feet — to  thank  him  ? 
to  offer  him  henceforth  an  absolute  devotion  ?  No  ;  but 
(and  here  we  have  a  touch  of  indescribable  truthfulness, 
utterly  beyond  the  power  of  the  most  consummate 
intellect  to  have  invented)  to  exclaim,  "  Depart  from 
ME,  for  I  am  a  sinful  man,  0  Lord  ! "  A  flash 
of  supernatural  illumination  had  revealed  to  him  both  his 
own  sinful  unworthiness  and  who  He  was  who  was  with 
him  in  the  boat.  It  was  the  cry  of  self-loathing  which  had 
already  realized  something  nobler.  It  was  the  first  impulse  of 
fear  and  amazement,  before  they  had  time  to  grow  into  adora- 
tion and  love.  St.  Peter  did  not  mean  the  "  Depart  from 
me;"  he  only  meant — and  this  was  known  to  the  Searcher 
of  hearts — "lam  utterly  unworthy  to  be  near  Thee,  yet 
let  me  stay."  How  unlike  was  this  cry  of  his  passionate 
and  trembling  humility  to  the   bestial   ravings  of  the  un- 


BEQINNINO  OF  THE  GA  LILIAN  MINISTRY.        131 

cleau  spirits,  who  baile  the  Loitl  to  let  them  alone,  or  to 
the  hardened  degradation  of  the  filthy  Gadarenes.  who 
preferred  to  the  presence  of  their  Saviour  the  tending  of 
their  swine! 

And  how  gently  the  answer  came  :  "  Fear  not ;  from 
henceforth  thou  shalt  catch  men."  Our  Lord,  as  in  all 
His  teaching,  seized  and  applied  with  exquisite  significance 
the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  Round  tliem  in  the 
little  boat  lay  in  heaps  the  glittering  spoil  of  the  lake — 
glittering,  but  with  a  glitter  that  began  to  fade  in  death. 
Henceforth  that  sinful  man,  washed  and  cleansed,  and  re- 
deemed and  sanctified,  was  to  chase,  witli  uobier  labor,  a 
spoil  which,  by  being  entangled  in  the  Gospel  net,  would 
not  die,  but  be  saved  alive.  And  his  brother,  and  his 
partners,  they,  too,  were  to  become  *'  fishers  of  men." 
This  final  call  was  enough.  They  had  already  been  called 
by  Jesus  on  the  banks  of  Jordan;  they  had  already  heard 
the  Baptist's  testimony;  but  they  had  not  yet  been  bidden 
to  forsake  all  and  follow  Him  ;  they  had  not  yet  grown 
familiar  with  the  miracles  of  power  which  confirmed  their 
faith;  they  had  not  yet  learned  fully  to  recognize  that  they 
who  followed  Him  were  not  only  safe  in  His  holy  keeping, 
but  should  receive  a  thousandfold  more  in  all  that  consti- 
tutes true  and  noble  happiness  even  in  this  life — in  the 
world  to  come,  life  everlasting. 

We  have  already  seen  that,  at  the  very  beginning  of  His 
ministry,  our  Lord  had  prepared  six  of  His  Apostles  for  a 
call  to  his  future  service  ;  four  of  whom  were  on  this  oc- 
casion bidden  not  only  to  regard  Him  as  their  Master,  but 
henceforth  to  leave  all  and  follow  Him.  There  was  but 
one  other  of  the  Apostles  who  received  a  separate  call — 
the  Evangelist,  St.  Matthew.  His  call,  though  narrated 
in  different  sequences  by  each  of  the  Synoptists,  probably 
took  place  about  this  time.  At  or  near  Capernaum  there 
was  a  receipt  of  custom.  Lying  as  the  town  did  at  the 
nucleus  of  roads  which  diverged  to  Tyre,  to  Damascus,  to 
Jerusalem,  and  to  Sepphoris,  it  was  a  busy  center  of 
merchandise,  and  therefore  a  natural  place  for  the  collec- 
tion of  tribute  and  taxes.  These  imposts  were  to  the  Jews 
pre-eminently  distasteful.  The  mere  fact  of  having  to  pay 
them  wounded  their  tenderest  sensibilities.  They  were 
not  only  a  badge  of  servitude;  they  were  not  only  a  daily 


]32  THE  LIFE  OF  CITRIST. 

and  terrible  witness  tliut  God  seemed  to  have  forsaken  His 
land,  and  that  all  the  sj)lendid  Messianic  hopes  and 
promises  of  their  earlier  history  were  merged  in  the  dis- 
astrous twilight  of  subjugation  to  a  foreign  rule  which  was 
cruelly  and  contem})tuously  enforced;  but,  more  than  this, 
the  mere  payment  of  such  imposts  wore  almost  the  appear- 
ance of  apostasy  to  the  sensitive  and  scrupulous  mind  of  a 
genuine  Jew.  It  seemed  to  be  a  violation  of  the  first 
principles  of  the  Theocracy,  such  as  could  only  be  excused 
as  the  result  of  absolute  compulsion.  We  cannot,  there- 
fore, wonder  that  the  officers  who  gathered  these  taxes 
were  regarded  with  profound  dislike.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  those  with  whom  the  provincials  came  in 
contact  were  not  the  Roman  knights — the  real  ^mblicatii, 
who  farmed  the  taxes — but  were  the  merest  subordinates, 
often  chosen  from  the  dregs  of  the  people,  and  so  notorious 
as  a  class  for  their  malpractices,  that  they  w-ere  regarded 
almost  with  horror,  and  were  always  included  in  the  same 
category  with  harlots  and  sinners.  When  an  occupation 
is  thus  despised  and  detested,  it  is  clear  that  its  members 
are  apt  to  sink  to  the  level  at  which  they  are  placed  by  the 
popular  odium.  And  if  a  Jew  could  scarcely  persuade 
himself  that  it  was  right  to  pay  taxes,  how  much  more 
heinous  a  crime  must  it  have  been  in  his  eyes  to  become 
the  questionably-honest  instrument  for  collecting  them  ? 
If  a  publican  was  hated,  how  still  more  intense  must  have 
been  the  disgust  entertained  against  a  publican  who  was 
also  a  Jew? 

But  He  who  came  to  seek  and  save  the  lost — He  who 
could  evoke  Christian  holiness  out  of  the  midst  of  heathen 
corruption — could  make,  even  out  of  a  Jewish  publican, 
the  Apostle  and  the  first  Evangelist  of  a  new  and  living 
Faith.  His  choice  of  apostles  was  dictated  by  a  spirit  far 
different  from  that  of  calculating  policy  or  conventional 
prudence.  He  rejected  the  dignified  scribe  (Matt.  viii.  19); 
He  chose  the  despised  and  hated  tax-gatherer.  It  was 
the  glorious  unworldliness  of  a  Divine  insight  and  a  perfect 
charity,  and  St.  Matthew  more  than  justified  it  by  turning 
his  knowledge  of  writing  to  a  sacred  use,  and  becoming 
the  earliest  biographer  of  his  Saviour  and  his  Lord. 

No  doubt  Matthew  had  heard  some  of  the  discourses,  had 
seen  some  of  the  miracles  of  Christ.     His  heart  had  been 


THE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT.  133 

touched,  and  to  the  eyes  of  Him  who  despised  none  and 
despaii'ed  of  none,  the  publican,  even  as  he  sat  at  **  the 
receipt  of  custom,''  was  ready  for  the  call.  One  word  was 
enough.  The  *^  Follow  me "  which  showed  to  Matthew 
that  his  Lord  loved  him,  and  was  ready  to  use  him  as  a 
chosen  instrument  in  spreading  the  good  tidings  of  the 
kingdom  of  God,  was  sufficient  to  break  the  temptations 
of  avarice  and  the  routine  of  a  daily  calling,  and  "  he  left 
all,  rose  up,  and  followed  Him,"  touched  into  noblest 
transformation  by  the  Ithuriel-speur  of  a  forgiving  and 
redeeming  love. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   TWELVE,    AXD   THE   SERMON    OX   THE    MOUNT. 

After  one  of  His  days  of  loving  and  ceaselass  toil,  Jesus, 
as  was  His  wont,  found  rest  and  peace  in  prayer.  "  He 
went  out  into  a  mountain" — or,  as  it  should  rather  be 
rendered,  into  the  mountain — "to  pray,  and  continued  all 
night  in  prayer  to  God."  There  is  something  affecting 
beyond  measure  in  the  thought  of  these  lonely  hours  ;  the 
absolute  silence  and  stillness,  broken  by  no  sounds  of 
human  life,  but  only  by  the  hooting  of  the  night-jar  or  the 
howl  of  the  Jackal  ;  the  stars  of  au  Eastern  heaven  raining 
their  large  luster  out  of  the  unfathomable  depth  ;  the 
figure  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows  kneeling  upon  the  dewy  grass, 
and  gaining  strength  for  His  labors  from  the  purer  air,  the 
more  open  heaven,  of  that  intense  and  silent  communing 
with  His  Father  and  His  God. 

The  scene  of  this  lonely  vigil,  and  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  was  in  all  probability  the  singular  elevation  known 
at  this  day  as  the  Kurn  Hattin,  or  *'  Horns  of  Hattin." 
It  is  a  hill  with  a  summit  which  closely  resembles  au  Ori- 
ental saddle  with  its  two  high  peaks.  On  the  west  it  rises 
very  little  above  the  level  of  a  broad  and  undulating  plain; 
on  the  east  it  sinks  precipitately  toward  a  plateau,  on 
which  lies,  immediately  beneath  the  cliffs,  the  village  of 
Hattin  ;  and  from  this  plateau  the  traveler  descends 
through  a  wild  and  tropic  gorge  to  tlie  shining  levels  of  the 
Lake  of  Galilee.     It   is   i\\o.  only  conspicuous  hill  oji  the 


134  TUE  LIFE  OF  VIIRIST. 

western  side  of  the  iake,  and  it  is  singularly  adapted  by  its 
conformation,  botli  to  form  a  place  for  short  retirement 
and  a  rendezvous  for  gathering  multitudes.  Hitherward, 
in  all  probability,  our  Lord  wandei'ed  in  the  evening  be- 
tween the  rugged  and  brigand-haunted  crags  which  form 
the  sides  of  the  Vale  of  Doves,  stopping,  perhaps,  at  times 
to  drink  the  clear  water  of  the  little  stream,  to  gather  the 
pleasant  apples  of  tlie  nuhk,  and  to  watch  the  eagles 
swooping  down  on  some  near  point  of  rock.  And  hitlier, 
in  tiie  morning,  less  heedful  than  their  Divine  Master  of 
the  manifold  beauties  of  the  scene,  the  crowd  followed  Him 
— loth  even  for  a  time  to  lose  Ilis  inspiring  presence,  eager 
to  listen  to  the  gracious  words  that  proceeded  out  of  His 
mouth. 

It  was  at  dawn  of  day,  and  before  the  crowd  had  assem- 
bled, that  our  Lord  summoned  into  His  presence  the  dis- 
ci})Ies  who  had  gradually  gathered  around  Him.  Hitherto 
the  relation  which  bound  them  to  His  person  seems  to  have 
been  loose  and  partial ;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  they  at 
all  realized  its  full  significance.  But  now  the  hour  was 
come,  and  out  of  the  wider  band  of  general  followers  He 
made  the  final  and  special  clioice  of  His  twelve  Apostles. 
Their  number  was  insignificant  compared  to  the  pompous 
retinue  of  hundreds  who  called  themselves  followers  of  a 
Hillel  or  a  Gamaliel,  and  their  position  in  life  was  humble 
and  obscure.  Simon  and  Andrew  the  sons  of  Jonas,  James 
and  John  the  sons  of  Zabdia,  and  Philip,  were  of  the  little 
vilhige  of  Betbsaida.  If  Matthew  be  the  same  as  Levi,  he 
was  a  son  of  Alph^eus,  and  therefore  a  brother  of  James 
the  Less  and  of  Jude,  the  brother  of  James,  who  is  gener- 
ally regarded  as  identical  with  Lebbaeus  and  Tliaddajus. 
Tliey  belonged  in  all  probability  to  Cana  or  Capernaum, 
and  if  there  were  any  ground  for  believing  the  tradition 
which  says  that  Mary,  the  wife  of  Alphfeus  or  Klopas,  was 
a  younger  sister  of  the  Virgin,  then  we  should  have  to 
consider  these  two  brothers  as  first-cousins  of  our  Lord. 
Nathanael  or  Bartholomew  was  of  Cana  in  Galilee.  Thoriias 
and  Simon  Zelotes  were  also  Galilaeans.  Judas  Iscariot 
was  the  son  of  a  Simon  Iscariot,  but  whether  this  Simon  is 
identical  with  the  Zealot  cannot  be  determined. 

Of  these,  "'  the  glorious  company  of  tlio  Apostles,"  three, 
James  the  Less,  Jude  [the  brother]  of  James,  and  Simon 


THE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT.  135 

Zelotes,  are  almost  totally  unknown.  The  very  personality 
of  James  and  Jiide  is  involved  in  numerous  and  difficult 
problems,  caused  by  the  extreme  frequency  of  those  names 
among  the  Jews.  Whether  they  are  the  authors  of  the 
two  Catholic  Epistles,  is  a  question  which,  perhaps,  will 
never  be  determined.  Nor  is  anything  of  individual  inter- 
est recorded  about  them  in  the  Grospels,  if  we  except  the 
single  question  of  ''  Judas,  not  Iscariot,"  which  is  men- 
tioned by  St.  John.  Simon  is  only  known  by  his  sur- 
names of  Zelotes,  "the  Zealot,"  or  "the  Oanaanite" — 
names  which  are  identical  in  meaning,  and  which  mark 
him  out  as  having  once  belonged  to  the  wild  and  furious 
followers  of  Judas  of  Giscala.  The  Greek  names  of  Philip 
and  Andrew,  together  witli  the  fact  that  it  was  to  Philip 
that  the  Greeks  applied  who  wished  for  an  interview  with 
our  Lord,  and  his  reference  of  the  request  to  Andrew,  may 
possibly  point  to  some  connection  on  their  part  with  the 
Hellenists  ;  but,  besides  their  first  call,  almost  nothing  is 
recorded  about  them  ;  and  the  same  remark  applies  to 
Nathanael  and  to  Matthew.  Of  Thomas,  called  also  Didy- 
mus,  or  "  the  Twin,"  which  is  only  a  Greek  version  of  his 
Hebrew  name,  we  catch  several  interesting  glimpses,  which 
show  a  well  marked  character,  naive  and  simple,  but  at  the 
same  time  ardent  and  generous  ;  ready  to  die,  yet  slow  to 
believe.  Of  Judas,  the  man  of  Kerioth,  perhaps  the  only 
Jew  in  the  Apostolic  band,  we  shall  have  sad  occasion  to 
speak  hereafter;  and  throughout  the  Gospels  He  is  often 
branded  by  the  fatal  epitaph,  so  terrible  in  its  very  simplic- 
ity, "Judas  Iscariot,  who  also  betrayed  Him." 

James,  John  and  Peter  belonged  to  the  innermost  circle 
— the  kKXEKr(3v  iHXEKTOTEpot — of  our  Lord's  associates  and 
friends.  They  alone  were  admitted  into  His  presence 
when  He  raised  the  daughter  of  Jairus,  and  at  His  trans- 
figuration, and  duiing  Ins  agony  in  thegardeUc  Of  James 
we  know  nothing  further  except  that  to  him  was  granted 
the  high  honor  of  being  tlie  first  martyr  in  tlie  Apostolic 
band.  He  and  hir  brother  John  seem,  although  they  were 
fishermen,  to  have  been  in  easier  circumstances  than  their 
associates.  Zebedee,  their  father,  not  only  had  his  own 
boat,  but  also  his  own  hired  servants;  and  John  mentions 
incidentally  in  his  Gospel  that  he  "  was  known  to  the 
higii  priest."     We  have  already  noticed   the  not  improb- 


130  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

able  conjecture  that  he  resided  much  at  Jernsaletn.  and 
there  managed  the  importing  of  the  fish  which  were  sent 
thitlier  from  the  Sea  of  Galilee.  We  should  thus  be  able 
to  account  for  his  more  intimate  knowledge  of  those  many 
incidents  of  our  I^ord's  ministry  in  Judciea  which  have  been 
entii'ely  omitted  by  the  other  Evangelists. 

St.  John  and  St.  Peter — the  one  the  symbol  of  the  con- 
temjilative,  the  other  of  the  practical  life — are  undoubtedly 
tlie  grandest  and  most  attractive  figures  in  that  Apostolic 
b;nul.  The  character  of  St.  John  has  been  often  mistaken. 
Filled  as  he  was  with  a  most  divine  tenderness — realizing 
as  he  did  to  a  greater  extent  than  any  of  the  Apostles  the 
full  depth  and  significance  of  our  Lord's  new  command- 
ment— lich  as  his  Epistles  and  his  Gospel  are  with  a  medi- 
tative and  absorbing  reverence — dear  as  he  has  ever  been 
in  consequence  to  the  heart  of  the  mystic  and  the  saint — 
yet  he  was  something  indefinitely  far  removed  from  that 
effeminate  pietist  which  has  furnished  the  usual  type 
under  which  he  has  been  represented.  The  name  Boan- 
erges, or  "Sons  of  Thunder,"  which  he  shared  with  his 
brother  James,  their  joint  petition  for  precedence  in  the 
kingdom  of  God,  their  passionate  request  to  call  down  fire 
fi'om  heaven  on  the  offending  village  of  the  Samaritans, 
the  burning  energy  of  the  j^atois  in  v/hich  the  Apocalypse 
is  written,  the  impetuous  horror  with  which,  according  to 
tradition,  St.  John  recoiled  from  the  presence  of  the 
heretic  Cerinthus,  all  show  that  in  him  was  the  spirit  of 
the  eagle,  which,  rather  than  the  dove,  has  been  his  im- 
memorial symbol.  And  since  zeal  and  enthusiasm,  dead 
as  they  are,  and  scorned  in  these  days  by  an  effete  and 
comfortable  religionism,  yet  have  ever  been  indispensable 
instruments  in  spreading  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  doubt- 
less it  was  the  existence  of  these  elements  in  his  charac- 
ter, side  by  side  with  tenderness  and  devotion,  which 
endeared  him  so  greatly  to  his  Master,  and  made  him  the 
"disciple  whom  Jesus  loved."  The  wonderful  depth  and 
power  of  his  imagination,  the  rare  combination  of  contem- 
jilativeness  and  passion,  of  strength  and  sweetness,  in  the 
same  soul— the  perfect  faith  which  inspired  his  devotion, 
and  the  perfect  love  which  precluded  fear — these  were  the 
gifts  and  graces  which  rendered  him  worthy  of  leaning  hia 
young  head  on  the  bosom  of  his  Lord.- 


THE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT.  137 

Nor  is  his  friend  St.  Peter  a  less  interesting  study.  We 
sliall  have  many  opportunities  of  observing  the  generous, 
impetuous,  wavering,  noble,  timid  impulses  of  his  thor- 
oughly human  but  most  lovable  disposition.  Let  the  brief 
but  vivid  summary  of  anotlier  now  suffice.  "It  would  be 
hard  to  tell,"  says  Dr.  Hamilton,  ''whether  most  of  his 
fervor  flowed  through  the  outlet  of  adoration  or  activity. 
His  full  heart  put  force  ami  promptitude  into  every  move- 
ment. Is  his  Master  encompassed  by  fierce  rufKans  ? — 
Peter's  ardor  flashes  in  his  ready  sword,  and  converts  tlie 
GaliUean  boatman  into  the  soldier  instantaneously.  Is 
there  a  rumor  of  a  resurrection  from  Josepli's  tomb  ? — 
John's  nimbler  foot  distances  liis  older  friend;  but  Peter's 
eagerness  outruns  tlie  serene  love  of  John,  and  i)ast  the 
gazing  disciple  he  rushes  breathless  into  the  vacant  sepul- 
cher.  Is  the  risen  Saviour  on  the  strand  ? — his  comrades 
secure  the  net,  and  turn  tiie  vessel's  head  for  shore  ;  but 
Peter  plunges  over  the  vessel's  side,  and  struggling 
through  the  waves,  in  his  dripping  coat  falls  down  at  his 
Master's  feet.  Does  Jesus  say,  '  Bring  of  the  fish  ye  have 
caught  ?" — ere  any  one  could  anticipate  the  word,  Peter's 
brawny  arm  is  lugging  the  weltering  net  with  its  glittering 
spoil  ashore,  and  every  eager  movement  unwittingly  is 
answering  beforehand  the  question  of  his  Lord,  '  Simon, 
lovest  thou  me  ?'  And  that  fervor  is  the  best,  which,  like 
Peter's,  and  as  occasion  requires,  can  ascend  in  ecstatic 
ascriptions  of  adoration  and  praise,  or  follow  Ciirist  to 
prison  and  to  death;  which  can  concentrate  itself  on  feats 
of  heroic  devotion,  or  distribute  itself  iu  the  affectionate 
assiduities  of  a  miscellaneous  industry." 

Such  were  the  chief  of  the  Apostles  whom  their  Lord 
united  into  one  band  as  He  sat  on  the  green  summit  of 
Kurn  Hattin.  We  may  suppose  that  on  one  of  those  two 
peaks  He  had  passed  the  night  in  prayer,  and  had  there 
been  Joined  by  His  disciples  at  the  early  dawn.  By  what 
external  symbol,  if  by  any,  our  Lord  ratified  this  first  great 
ordination  to  the  Apostolate  we  do  not  know  ;  but  un- 
doubtedly the  present  choice  was  regarded  as  formal  and  as 
final,  lienceforth  there  was  to  be  no  return  to  the  fisher's 
boat  or  the  publican's  booth  as  a  so'/ru^ce  of  sustenance  ; 
but  the  disciples  were  to  share  tlie  tvandering  missions, 
the  evangelic  labors,  the  scant  meal.  and.  uncertain,  htuue. 


138  THE  LIFE  OF  VUltlST. 

wliicli  marked  even  the  happiest  period  of  the  ministry 
of  their  Lord.  They  were  to  be  weary  with  Him  under 
the  burning  noonday,  and  to  sleep,  as  He  did,  under  the 
starry  sky. 

And  while  tlie  choice  was  being  made,  a  vast  pro- 
miscuous multitude  had  begun  to  gather.  Not  only  from 
the  densely  poj)uhited  sliores  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  but 
even  from  Jud;ea  and  Jerusalem — nay,  even  from  the  dis- 
tant sea-coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidou — they  iiad  crowded  to 
touch  His  person  and  hear  His  words.  From  the  })eak  He 
descended  to  the  flat  summit  of  the  hill,  and  first  of  all 
occupied  Himself  with  the  physical  wants  of  those 
anxious  hearers,  healing  their  diseases,  and  dispossessing 
the  unclean  spirits  of  the  souls  which  they  had  seized. 
And  then,  when  the  multitude  were  seated  in  calm  and 
serious  attention  on  the  grassy  sides  of  that  lovely  natural 
amphitheater,  He  raised  His  eyes,  which  liad,  perhaps, 
been  bent  downward  for  a  few  moments  of  inward  prayer, 
and  opening  His  mouth,  delivered  primarily  to  His 
disciples,  but  intending  through  them  to  address  the  mul- 
titude, that  memorable  discourse  which  will  be  known  for 
ever  as  "the  Sermon  on  the  Mount." 

The  most  careless  reader  has  probably  been  struck  with 
the  contrast  between  the  delivery  of  this  sermon  and  the 
delivery  of  the  Law  on  Sinai.  We  think  of  that  as  a 
"fiery  law,"  whose  promulgation  is  surrounded  by  the 
imagery  of  thunders,  and  lightnings,  and  the  voice  of  the 
trumpet  sounding  long  and  waxing  louder  and  louder. 
We  think  of  this  as  flowing  forth  in  divinest  music  amid 
Jill  the  calm  and  loveliness  of  the  clear  and  quiet  dawn. 
That  came  dreadfully  to  the  startled  conscience  from  an 
Unseen  Presence,  shrouded  by  wreathing  clouds,  and 
destroying  fire,  and  eddying  smoke:  this  was  uttered  by  a 
sweet  human  voice  that  moved  tlie  heart  most  gently  in 
words  of  peace.  That  was  delivered  on  the  desolate  and 
storm-rent  hill  which  seems  with  its  red  granite  crags 
to  threaten  the  scorching  wilderness;  this  on  the. flowery 
grass  of  the  green  hill-side  which  slopes  down  to  the  silver 
lake.  That  shook  the  heart  with  terror  and  agitation;  this 
soothed  it  with  peace  and  love.  And  yet  the  New  Com- 
7nandments  of  the  Mount  of  Beatitudes  were  not  meant 
to  abrogate,  but  rather  to  complete,  the   Law   which  was 


THE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT.  139 

spoken  from  Sinai  to  them  of  old.  That  law  was  founded 
on  the  eternal  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong — distinctions 
strong  and  irremovable  as  the  granite  bases  of  the  world. 
Easier  would  it  be  to  sweep  away  the  heaven  and  the  earth, 
than  to  destroy  the  least  letter,  one  yod — or  the  least  point 
of  a  letter,  one  jirojecting  horn — of  that  code  which  con- 
tains the  very  principles  of  all  moral  life.  Jesus  warned 
them  that  He  came,  not  to  abolish  that  Law,  but  to  obey 
and  to  fulfill;  while  at  the  same  time  lie  taught  that  this 
obedience  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  Levitical  scrupulosity 
of  a  superstiiious  adherence  to  the  letter,  but  was  rather  a 
surrender  of  the  heart  and  will  to  the  innermost  meaning 
and  spirit  which  the  commands  involved.  He  fulfilled 
that  olden  Law  by  perfectly  keeping  it,  and  by  imparting 
a  power  to  keep  it  to  all  who  believe  in  Him,  even  though 
He  made  its  cogency  so  far  more  universal  and  profound. 

The  sermon  began  with  the  word  "  blessed,"  and  with 
an  octave  of  beatitudes.  But  it  was  a  neiv  revelation  of 
beatitude.  The  people  were  expecting  a  Messiah  who 
should  break  the  yoke  off  their  necks — a  king  clothed  in 
earthly  splendor,  and  manifested  in  the  pomp  of  victory 
and  vengeance.  Their  minds  were  haunted  with  legendary 
prophecies,  as  to  how  He  should  stand  on  the  sliore  at 
Joppa,  and  bid  the  sea  pour  out  its  pearls  and  treasure  at 
His  feet;  how  He  should  clothe  them  with  jewels  and 
scarlet,  and  feed  them  with  even  a  sweeter  manna  than  the 
wilderness  had  known.  But  Christ  reveals  to  them 
another  King,  another  happiness — the  riches  of  poverty, 
the  royalty  of  meekness,  the  high  beatitude  of  sorrow  and 
persecution.  And  this  new  Law,  which  should  not  only 
coDimand  but  also  aid,  was  to  be  set  forth  in  beneficent 
manifestation — at  once  as  salt  to  preserve  the  world  from 
corruption,  and  as  a  light  to  guide  it  in  the  darkness. 
And  then  follows  a  comparison  of  the  new  Law  of  mercy 
with  the  old  Law  of  threatening;  the  old  was  transitory, 
this  permanent;  the  old  was  a  type  and  shadow,  the  new  a 
fulfillment  and  completion;  the  old  demanded  obedience  in 
outward  action,  the  new  was  to  permeate  the  thoughts;  the 
old  contained  tlie  rule  of  conduct,  the  new  the  secret  of 
obedience.  The  command  "Thou  shalt  not  murder," 
was  henceforth  extended  to  angry  words  and  feelings  of 
hatred.     The  germ  of  adultery  was  shown  to  be  involved 


140  tiih:  life  of  christ. 

in  a  lascivious  look.  The  prohibition  of  perjury  was 
extended  to  every  vain  and  unnecessary  oath.  The  law 
of  equivalent  revenge  was  superseded  by  a  law  of  absolute 
self-abuegiition.  The  love  due  to  our  neighbor  was 
extended  also  to  our  enemy.  Henceforth  the  children  of 
the  kingdom  were  to  aim  at  nothing  less  than  this — namel}', 
to  he  perfect,  as  their  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect. 

And  the  new  life  which  was  to  issue  fi'om  this  new  Law 
was  to  be  contrasted  in  all  respects  with  that  routine  of 
exaggerated  scruples  and  Pharisaic  formalism  which  had 
hiliierto  been  regarded  as  the  highest  ty})e  of  religious 
conversation.  Alms  were  to  be  given,  not  with  noisy 
ostentation,  but  in  modest  secrecy.  Prayers  were  to  be 
uttered,  not  with  hypoeritic  publicity,  but  in  holy  solitude. 
Fasting  was  to  be  exercised,  not  as  a  belauded  virtue,  but 
as  a  private  self  denial.  And  all  these  acts  of  devotion 
were  to  be  offered  with  sole  reference  to  the  love  of  God, 
in  a  simplicity  which  sought  no  earthly  reward,  but  which 
stored  up  for  itself  a  heavenly  and  incorruptible  treasure. 
And  the  service  to  be  sincere  must  be  entire  and  undistracted. 
The  cares  and  the  anxieties  of  life  were  not  to  divert 
its  earnestness  or  to  trouble  its  repose.  The  God  to  whom 
it  was  directed  was  a  Father  also,  and  He  who  ever  feeds 
the  fowls  of  the  air,  which  neither  sow  nor  reap,  and 
clothes  in  their  more  than  regal  loveliness  the  flowers  of 
the  field,  would  not  fail  to  clothe  and  feed,  and  that 
Avithout  any  need  for  their  own  toilsome  anxiety,  the 
children  wiio  seek  His  i-ighteousness  as  their  first  desire. 

And  what  should  be  the  basis  of  such  service  ?  The 
self-examiiuition  which  issues  in  a  gentleness  which  will 
not  condemn,  in  a  charity  that  cannot  believe,  in  an 
ignorance  that  will  not  know,  the  sins  of  others  ;  the  re- 
serve which  will  not  waste  or  degrade  things  holy  ;  the 
faith  which  seeks  for  strength  from  above,  and  knows  that, 
seeking  rightly,  it  shall  obtain  ;  the  self-denial  which,  in 
the  desire  to  increase  God's  glory  and  man's  happiness, 
sees  the  sole  guide  of  its  actions  toward  all  the  world. 

The  gate  was  straight,  the  path  narrow,  but  it  led  to 
life  ;  by  the  lives  and  actions  of  those  who  professed 
to  live  by  it,  and  point  it  out,  they  were  to  judge  whether 
their  doctrine  was  true  or  false  ;  without  this  neitlier 
words  of  orthodoxy  would  avail,  nor  works  of  power. 


TUE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT.  i41 

Lastly,  He  warned  them  that  lie  who  heard  these  say- 
ings and  did  them  was  like  a  wise  man  who  built  a  house 
with  fonndations  dug  deeply  into  the  living  rock,  whose 
honse,  because  it  was  founded  upon  a  rock,  stood  un- 
shaken amid  the  vehement  beating  of  storm  and  surge  : 
but  he  who  heard  and  did  them  not  was  likened  *'unto  a 
foolish  man  that  built  his  house  upon  the  sand  ;  and  the 
rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and  the  winds  blew 
and  beat  upon  that  house  ;  and  it  fell,  and  great  was  the 
fall  of  it." 

Such  in  barest  and  most  colorless  outline  are  the  topics 
of  that  mighty  sermon  ;  nor  is  it  marvelous  that  they  who 
heard  it  "  were  astonished  at  the  doctrine."  Their  main 
astonishment  was  that  He  taught  "as  one  having  author- 
ity, and  not  as  the  Scribes."  The  teaching  of  their 
Scribes  was  narrow,  dogmatical,  material ;  it  was  cold  in 
manner,  frivolous  in  matter,  second-hand,  and  iterative  in 
its  very  essence  ;  with  no  freshness  in  it,  no  force,  no  fire; 
servile  to  all  autiiority,  opposed  to  all  independence  ;  at 
once  erudite  and  foolish,  at  once  contemptuous  and  mean; 
never  passing  a  hair's  breadth  beyond  the  carefully 
watched  boundary  line  of  commentary  and  precedent ;  full 
of  balanced  inference,  and  orthodox  hesitancy,  and  im- 
possible literalism  ;  intricate  with  legal  jjettiness  and  laby- 
rinthine system  ;  elevating  mere  memory  above  genius, 
and  repetition  above  originality;  concerned  only  about 
Priests  and  Piiarisees,  in  Temple  and  synagogue,  or 
school,  or  Sanhedrin,  and  mostly  occupied  with  things  in- 
finitely little.  It  was  not  indeed  wholly  devoid  of  moral 
significance,  nor  is  it  impossible  to  find  here  and  there, 
among  the  debris  of  it,  a  noble  thought  ;  but  it  was  occu- 
pied a  thousandfold  more  with  Levitical  minutia?  about 
mint,  and  anise,  and  cummin,  and  the  length  of  fringes, 
and  the  breadth  of  phylacteries,  and  the  washing  of  cups, 
and  platters,  and  the  particular  quarter  of  a  second  when 
wew  moons  and  Sabbath  days  began.  But  this  teaching 
of  Jesus  was  wholly  different  in  its  character,  and  as  much 
grander  as  the  temple  of  the  morning  sky  under  which  it 
Avas  uttered  was  grander  than  stifling  synagogue  or 
crowded  school.  It  was  preached,  as  each  occasion  rose, 
on  the  hill-side  or  by  the  lake,  or  on  the  roads,  or  in  the 
house  of  the  Pharisee,  or  at  the  banquet  of  tlie  publican  ; 


142  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

nor  WHS  it  ;iny  sweeter  or  loftier  when  it  was  luldressed  in 
the  Royal  Portico  to  the  Masters  of  Israel,  than  when  its 
only  hearers  were  the  ignorant  people  whom  the  haughty 
Pharisees  held  to  be  accursed.  And  there  was  no  reserve 
in  its  administration.  It  flowed  forth  as  sweetly  and  as 
lavisiily  to  single  listeners  as  to  enraptured  crowds  ;  and 
some  of  its  very  riciiest  revelations  were  vouchsafed, 
neither  to  rulers  nor  to  multitudes,  but  to  the  persecuted 
outcast  of  the  Jewish  synagogue,  to  the  timid  inquirer  in 
the  lonely  midnight,  and  the  frail  woman  by  the  noonday 
well.  A.nd  it  dealt,  not  witii  scrupulous  tithes  and  cere- 
monial cleansings,  but  with  the  human  soul,  and  human 
destiny,  and  human  life — with  Hope,  and  Charity,  and 
Faith.  There  were  no  definitions  in  it,  or  explanations,  or 
''scholastic  systems,"  or  philosophic  theoriziiig,  or  impli- 
cated mazes  of  difficult  and  dubious  discussion,  but  a  swift 
intuitive  insight  into  the  very  depths  of  the  human  heart — 
even  a  supreme  and  daring  paradox  that,  without  being 
fenced  round  with  exceptions  or  limitations,  appealed  to 
the  conscience  with  its  irresistible  simplicity,  and  with  an 
absolute  mastery  stirred  and  dominated  over  the  heart. 
Springing  from  the  depths  of  holy  emotions,  it  thrilled 
the  being  of  every  listener  as  with  electric  flame.  In 
a  word,  its  authority  was  the  authority  of  the  Divine  In- 
carnate; it  was  a  Voice  of  God,  speaking  in  the  utterance 
of  man  ;  its  austere  purity  was  yet  pervaded  with  tender- 
est  sympathy,  and  its  awful  severity  with  an  unutterable 
love.  It  is,  to  borrow  the  image  of  the  wisest  of  the 
Latin  Fathers,  a  great  sea  whose  smiling  surface  breaks 
into  refreshing  ripples  at  the  feet  of  our  little  ones,  but 
into  whose  unfathomable  depths  the  wisest  may  gaze  with 
the  shudder  of  amazement  and  the  thrill  of  love. 

And  we,  who  can  compare  Christ's  teaching — the  teach- 
ing of  One  whom  some  would  represent  to  have  been  no 
more  than  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth — with  all  that  the 
world  has  of  best  and  greatest  in  Piiilosophy  and  Elo- 
quence and  Song,  must  not  we  too  add,  with  yet  deeper 
emphasis,  that  teaching  as  one  having  authority,  He  spake 
as  never  man  spake  ?  Other  teachers  have  by  God's  grace 
uttered  words  of  wisdom,  but  to  which  of  them  has  it 
been  granted  to  regenerate  mankind  ?  What  would  the 
world  be  now  if  it  had  nothing  better  than  the  dry  aphor- 


fSB  SJSRMON  ON  TUB  MOUNT.  U3 

isuis  and  cautious  hesitations  of  Confucius,  or  the  dubious 
principles  and  dangerous  concessions  of  Plato  ?  Would 
humanity  have  made  the  vast  moral  advance  which  it  has 
made,  if  no  great  Prophet  from  on  High  had  furnished  it 
with  anything  better  than  Sakya  Mouni's  dreary  hope  of  a 
nirvana,  to  be  won  by  unnatural  asceticism,  or  than 
Mahomet's  cynical  sanction  of  polygamy  and  despotism  ? 
Christianity  may  have  degenerated  in  many  respects  from 
its  old  and  great  ideal  ;  it  may  have  lost  something  of  its 
virgin  purity — the  struggling  and  divided  Church  of  to- 
day may  have  waned,  during  these  long  centuries,  from 
the  splendor  of  the  New  Jerusalem  descending  out  of 
heaven  from  God  ;  but  is  Christendom  no  better  than  what 
Greece  became,  and  what  Turkey  and  Arabia  and  China 
are  ?  Does  Christianity  wither  the  nations  which  have 
accepted  it  with  the  atrophy  of  Buddhism,  or  the  blight 
of  Islam  ?  Even  as  a  moral  system — though  it  is  infinitely 
more  than  a  moral  system — we  do  not  concede  that  Chris- 
tianity is  unoriginal  ;  and  we  besides  maintain  that  no 
faith  has  ever  been  able  like  it  to  sway  the  affections  and 
hearts  of  men.  Other  religions  are  demonstrably  defec- 
tive and  erroneous  ;  ours  has  never  been  proved  to  be  other- 
wise than  perfect  and  entire  ;  other  systems  were  esoteric 
and  exclusive,  ours  simple  and  universal ;  others  temporary 
and  for  the  few,  ours  eternal  and  for  the  race.  K'ung 
Foo-tze,  Sakya  Mouni,  Mahomet,  could  not  even  conceive 
the  ideal  of  a  society  without  falling  into  miserable  error  ; 
Christ  established  the  reality  of  an  eternal  and  glorious 
kingdom — whose  theory  for  all,  whose  history  in  the  world, 
prove  it  to  be  indeed  what  it  was  from  the  first  proclaimed 
to  be — the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  the  Kingdom  of  God. 

And  yet  how  exquisitely  and  freshly  simple  is  the  actual 
language  of  Christ  compared  with  all  other  teaching  that 
has  ever  gained  the  ear  of  the  world  ?  There  is  no  science 
in  it,  no  art,  no  pomp  of  demonstration,  no  carefulness  of 
toil,  no  trick  of  rhetoricians,  no  wisdom  of  the  schools. 
Straight  as  an  arrow  to  the  mark  His  precepts  pierce  to 
the  very  depths  of  the  soul  and  spirit.  All  is  short,  clear, 
precise,  full  of  holiness,  full  of  common  images  of  daily 
life.  There  is  scarcely  a  scene  or  object  familiar  to  the 
Galilee  of  the  day,  which  Jesus  did  not  use  as  a  moral 
illustration  of  some  glorious  promise  or.  moral  law.     He 


U4  Tiih:  LiVK  OF  cmus'iK 

spoke  of  green  fields,  aiul  springiuo-  fiovvers,  and  the  bud- 
ding of  tl)e  vernal  trees  ;  of  the  red  or  lowering  sky  ;  of 
sunrise  and  sunset ;  of  wind  and  rain  ;  of  night  and 
storm  ;  of  clouds  and  lightning;  of  stream  and  river;  of 
stars  and  lamps  ;  of  honey  and  salt ;  of  quivering  bulrushes 
and  burning  weeds  ;  of  rent  garments  and  bursting  wine- 
skins ;  of  eggs  and  serpents  ;  of  pearls  and  pieces  of  money  ; 
of  nets  and  tish.  Wine  and  wheat,  corn  and  oil,  stewards 
and  gardeners,  laborers  and  employers,  kings  and  shep- 
lierds,  travelers  and  fathers  of  families,  courtiers  in  soft 
clothing  and  brides  in  nuptial  robes — all  these  are  found 
in  Ilis  discourses,  lie  knew  all  life,  and  had  gazed  on  it 
with  a  kindly  as  well  as  a  kingly  glance.  lie  could  sym- 
pathize with  its  joys  no  less  than  He  could  heal  its  sorrows, 
and  the  eyes  that  were  so  often  suffused  with  tears  as  they 
saw  the  sufferings  of  earth's  mourners  beside  the  bed  of 
death,  had  shone  also  with  a  kindlier  glow  as  they  watched 
the  games  of  earth's  happy  little  ones  iu  the  green  fields 
and  busy  streets. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FURTHER     MIRACLES. 

The  Inauguration  of  the  Great  Doctrine  was  immedi- 
ately followed  and  ratified  by  mighty  signs.  Jesus  went, 
says  one  of  the  Fathers,  from  teaching  to  miracle.  Hav- 
ing taught  as  one  who  had  authority,  He  proceeded  to  con- 
firm that  authority  by  accordant  deeds. 

It  might  have  been  thought  that  after  a  night  of  cease- 
less prayer  under  the  open  sky,  followed  at  early  dawn  by 
the  choice  of  Twelve  Apostles,  and  by  a  long  address  to 
them  and  to  a  vast  promiscuous  multitude,  our  Lord  would 
have  retired  to  the  repose  which  such  incessant  activity 
required.  Such,  however,  was  very  far  from  being  the 
case,  and  the  next  few  days,  if  we  rightly  grasp  the 
sequence  of  events,  were  days  of  continuous  and  unweary- 
ing toil. 

When  the  Sermon  was  over,  the  immense  throng  dis- 
persed in  various  directions,  and  those  whose  homes  lay  in 
the   plain  of   Gennesareth  would   doubtless  follow   Jesus 


FURTHER  MIRACLES.  145 

through  the  village  of  Hiitfciii,  and  across  the  narrow 
plateau,  and  then,  after  descending  the  ravine,  would  leave 
Magdala  on  the  right,  and  pass  through  Bethsaida  to 
Capernaum. 

As  He  descended  the  mountain,  and  was  just  entering 
one  of  the  little  towns,  probably  a  short  distance  in  advance 
of  the  multitude,  who  from  natural  respect  would  be  likely 
to  leave  Him  undisturbed  after  His  labors,  a  pitiable  sjDec- 
tacle  met  His  eyes.  Suddenly,  with  agonies  of  entreaty, 
falling  first  on  his  knees,  then,  in  the  anguisli  of  his  heart 
and  the  intensity  of  his  supplication,  prostrating  himself 
upon  his  face,  there  appeared  before  Him,  with  bare  head, 
and  rent  garments,  and  covered  lip,  a  leper — "full  of 
leprosy" — smitten  with  the  worst  and  foulest  form  of  that 
loathsome  and  terrible  disease.  It  must,  indeed,  have  re- 
quired on  the  part  of  the  poor  wretch  a  stupendous  faith 
to  believe  that  the  young  Prophet  of  Nazareth  was  One 
who  could  heal  a  disease  of  which  the  worst  misery  was  the 
belief  that,  when  once  thoroughly  seated  in  the  blood,  it 
was  ineradicable  and  progressive.  And  yet  the  concentra- 
ted hope  of  a  life  broke  out  in  the  man's  impassioned 
prayer,  "  Lord,  if  Thou  wilt.  Thou  canst  make  me  clean." 
Prompt  as  an  echo  came  the  answer  to  his  faith,  "  I  will: 
be  thou  clean."  All  Christ's  miracles  are  revelations  also. 
Sometimes,  when  the  circumstances  of  the  case  required 
it.  He  delayed  His  answer  to  a  suflferei's  prayer.  But  we 
are  never  told  that  there  was  a  moment's  pause  when  a 
leper  cried  to  him.  Leprosy  was  an  acknowledged  type  of 
sin,  and  Christ  would  teach  us  that  the  heartfelt  prayer  of 
the  sinner  to  be  purged  and  cleansed  is  always  met  by  in- 
stantaneous acceptance.  When  David,  the  type  of  all  true 
penitents,  cried  with  intense  contrition,  "I  have  sinned 
against  the  Lord,"  Nathan  could  instantly  convey  to  him 
God's  gracious  message,  '*'  The  Lord  also  hath  put  away 
thy  sin;  thou  shalt  not  die." 

Instantly  stretching  forth  His  hand,  our  Lord  touched 
the  leper,  and  he  was  cleansed. 

It  was  a  glorious  violation  of  the  letter  of  the  Law,  which 
attached  ceremonial  pollution  to  a  leper's  touch;  but  it  was 
at  the  same  time  a  glorious  illustration  of  the  spirit  of  the 
jjaw,  which  was  that  mercy  is  better  than  sacrifice.  The 
hand  of  Jesus  was  not  polluted  by  touching  the  leper's 


146  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

body,  but  the  leper's  whole  body  was  cleansed  by  the  touch 
of  that  holy  hand.  It  was  even  tluis  tliat  lie  touched  our 
sinful  human  nature,  and  yet  remained  without  spot  of 
sin. 

It  was  in  the  depth  and  spontaneity  of  His  human  emo- 
tion tliat  our  Lord  had  touched  the  leper  into  health.  But 
it  was  His  present  desire  to  fulfill  the  Mosaic  Law  by  per- 
fect obedience;  and  both  in  proof  of  the  miracle,  and  out 
of  consideration  to  the  sufferer,  and  in  conformity  with  the 
Levitical  ordinance.  He  bade  tiie  leper  go  and  sliow  him- 
self to  the  priest,  make  the  customary  offerings,  and  obtain 
the  legal  certificate  that  he  was  clean.  He  accompanied 
the  direction  with  a  strict  and  even  stern  injunction  to  say 
not  one  word  of  it  to  any  one.  It  appears  from  this  that 
the  suddenness  with  which  the  miracle  had  been  accom- 
plished had  kept  it  secret  from  all,  except  perhaps  a  few  of 
our  Lord's  immediate  followers,  although  it  had  been 
wrought  in  open  day,  and  in  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of  a  city,  and  at  no  great  distance  from  the  following  mul- 
titudes. But  why  did  our  Lord  on  this,  and  many  other 
occasions,  enjoin  on  the  recipient  of  the  miracles  a  secrecy 
which  they  so  rarely  observed?  The  full  reason  perhaps 
we  shall  never  know,  but  that  it  had  reference  to  circuni- 
stances  of  time  and  place,  and  the  mental  condition  of 
those  in  whose  favor  the  deeds  were  wrought,  is  clear  from 
the  fact  that  on  one  occasion  at  least,  where  the  conditions 
were  different,  He  even  enjoined  a  publication  of  the  mercy 
vouchsafed.  Was  it,  as  St.  Chrysostom  conjectures,  to 
repress  a  spirit  of  boastfulness,  and  teach  men  not  to  talk 
away  the  deep  inward  sense  of  God's  great  gifts?  or  was  it 
to  avoid  an  over-excitement  and  tumult  in  the  already 
astonished  multitudes  of  Galilee?  or  was  it  that  He  might 
be  regarded  by  them  in  His  true  light — not  as  a  mighty 
Wonderworker,  not  as  a  universal  Hakim,  but  as  a  Saviour 
by  Revelation  and  Hope? 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  general  reasons,  it  appears 
that  in  this  case  there  must  have  been  some  reason  of 
special  importance.  St.  Mark,  reflecting  for  us  the  in- 
tense and  vivid  impressions  of  St.  Peter,  shows  us,  in  his 
terse  but  most  graphic  narrative,  that  the  man's  dismissal 
was  accompanied  on  our  Saviour's  part  with  some  over- 
powering emotion.     Not  only  is  the  word,  **  He  straitly 


PtJrRTItER  MiRACLSIS.  14'J' 

charged  him"  (Mark  i.  43),  a  word  implying  an  extreme 
earnestness  and  even  vehemence  of  look  and  gesture, 
bnt  the  word  for  ''forthwith  sent  him  away"  is 
literally  He  "  pushed  "  or  "drove  him  forth."  What  was 
the  cause  for  this  severely  inculcated  order,  for  this 
instantaneous  dismissal  ?  Perhaps  it  was  the  fact  that 
by  touching  the  leper  —  though  the  touch  was  heal- 
ing —  He  would,  in  the  eyes  of  an  nnreasoning  and 
unspiritual  orthodoxy,  be  regarded  as  ceremonially  un- 
clean. And  that  this  actually  did  occur  may  be  assumed 
from  the  expressly  mentioned  fact  that,  in  consequence  of 
the  manner  in  which  this  incident  was  blazoned  abroad  by 
the  cleansed  sufferer,  "  He  could  not  openly  enter  into  a 
city,  but  was  without  in  desert  places."  St.  Luke  mentions 
a  similar  circumstance,  though  without  giving  any  special 
reason  for  it,  and  adds  that  Jesus  spent  the  time  in  prayer. 
If,  however,  the  dissemination  of  the  leper's  story  involved 
the  necessity  for  a  sliort  period  of  seclusion,  it  is  clear  that 
the  multitude  paid  but  little  regard  to  this  Levitical  un- 
cleanness,  for  even  in  the  lonely  spot  to  which  Jesus  had 
retired  they  thronged  to  Him  from  every  quarter. 

Whether  the  healing  of  the  centurion's  servant  took  place 
before  or  after  this  retirement  is  uncertain  ;  but  from  the 
fact  that  both  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Luke  place  it  in  close 
connection  with  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  we  may  sup- 
pose that  the  thronging  of  the  multitudes  to  seek  Him, 
even  in  desert  places,  may  have  shown  Him  that  it  would 
not  be  possible  for  Him  to  satisfy  the  scruples  of  the 
Legalists  by  this  temporary  retirement  from  human 
intercourse. 

Our  Lord  had  barely  reached  the  town  of  Capernaum, 
where  he  had  fixed  his  temporary  home,  when  He  was 
met  by  a  deputation  of  Jewish  elders — probably  the  iat- 
lanim  of  the  chief  synagogue — to  intercede  with  Him  on 
behalf  of  a  centui'ion,  whose  faithful  and  beloved  slave 
lay  in  the  agony  and  peril  of  a  paralytic  seizure.  It  might 
have  seemed  strange  that  Jewish  elders  should  take  this 
amount  of  interest  in  one  who,  whether  a  Roman  or  not, 
was  certainly  a  heathen,  and  may  not  even  have  been  a 
**  proselyte  of  the  gate."  They  explained,  however,  that 
not  only  did  he  love  their  nation — a  thing  most  rare  in  a 
Gentile,  for,  generally  speaking,  the  Jews  were  regarded 


148  THE  LtFE  OF  CHRIST. 

with  a  singular  detestation — but  had  even,  at  his  ovvu  ex- 
pense, built  them  a  synagogue,  which,  although  there 
must  have  been  several  in  Capernaum,  was  sufficiently 
beautiful  and  conspicuous  to  be  called  •*  the  synagogue." 
The  mere  fact  of  their  appealing  to  Jesus  shows  that  this 
event  belongs  to  an  early  period  of  His  ministry,  when 
myriads  looked  to  Him  with  astonishment  and  hope,  and 
before  the  deadly  exasperation  of  after  days  had  begun. 
Christ  immediately  granted  their  request.  ''  I  will  go," 
he  said,  "  and  heal  him."  But  on  the  way  they  met  other 
messengers  from  the  humble  and  devout  centurion,  en- 
treating Him  not  to  enter  the  unworthy  roof  of  a  Gentile, 
but  to  heal  the  suffering  slave  (as  He  had  healed  the  son 
of  a  courtier)  by  a  mere  word  of  power.  As  the  centurion, 
though  in  a  subordinate  office,  yet  had  ministers  ever 
ready  to  do  his  bidding,  so  could  not  Christ  bid  viewless 
messengers  to  perform  His  will,  without  undergoing  this 
personal  labor?  The  Lord  was  struck  by  so  remarkable  a 
faith,  greater  than  any  which  He  had  met  with  even  in 
Israel.  He  had  found  in  the  oleaster  what  He  had  not 
found  in  the  olive  ;  and  He  drew  from  this  circumstance 
the  lesson,  which  fell  with  such  a  chilling  and  unwelcome 
sound  on=  Jewish  ears,  that  when  many  of  the  natural 
children  of  the  kingdom  should  be  cast  into  outer  dark- 
ness, many  should  come  from  the  East  and  the  West,  and 
sit  down  with  Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob  in  the  king- 
dom of  heaven.  But  the  centurion's  messengers  found 
on  their  return  that  the  healing  word  had  been  effectual, 
and  that  the  cherished  slave  had  been  restored  to  health. 

It  is  not  strange  that,  after  days  as  marvelous  as  these, 
it  was  impossible  for  Jesus  to  find  due  repose.  From  early 
dawn  on  the  mountain-top  to  late  evening  in  whatever 
liouse  He  had  selected  for  His  nightly  rest,  the  multitudes 
came  crowding  about  Him,  not  respecting  His  privacy„ 
not  allowing  for  His  weariness,  eager  to  see  Him,  eager  to 
share  His  miracles,  eager  to  listen  to  His  words.  There 
was  no  time  even  to  eat  bread.  Such  a  life  is  not  only  to 
the  last  degree  trying  and  fatiguing,  but  to  a  refined  and 
liigh-strung  nature,  rejoicing  in  noble  solitude,  finding  its 
purest  and  most  perfect  happiness  in  lonely  prayer,  this 
incessant  publicity,  this  apparently  illimitable  toil  becomes 
simply   maddening,    unless    the    spirit    be    sustained    by 


FURTIIKR  MIRACLES.  149 

boundless  sympathy  and  love.  But  the  heart  of  the 
Saviour  ivas  so  sustained.  It  is  probably  to  this  period 
that  the  remarkable  anecdote  belongs  wliich  is  preserved 
for  us  by  St.  Mai'k  alone.  The  kinsmen  and  immediate 
family  of  Christ,  hearing  of  all  that  He  was  doing,  came 
from  their  home  —  perhaps  at  Cana,  perhaps  at  Caper- 
naum— to  get  possession  of  His  person,  to  put  Him  under 
constraint.  Their  informants  liad  mistaken  the  exaltation 
visible  in  all  His  words  and  actions — the  intense  glow  of 
compassion — the  burning  flame  of  love;  they  looked  upon 
it  as  over-excitement,  exaggerated  sensibility,  the  very 
delirium  of  beneficence  and  zeal.  To  the  world  there  has 
ever  been  a  tendency  to  confuse  the  fervor  of  enthusiasm 
with  the  eccentricity  of  a  disordered  genius.  *'  Paul, 
thou  art  mad,"  was  the  only  comment  which  the  Apostle's 
passion  of  exalted  eloquence  produced  on  the  cynical  and 
blase  intellect  of  the  Roman  Procurator.  "He  hath  a 
devil,"  was  the  inference  suggested  to  many  dull  and. 
worldly  hearers  after  some  of  the  tenderest  and  divinest 
sayings  of  our  Lord.  "  Brother  INIartin  has  a  fine  genius," 
was  the  sneering  allusion  of  Pope  Leo  X  to  Luther. 
*'  What  crack-brained  fanatics,"  observed  the  fine  gentle- 
men of  the  eighteenth  century  when  they  spoke  of  Wesley 
and  Whitefield.  Similar,  though  not  so  coarse,  was  the 
thought  which  filled  the  mind  of  Christ's  wondering  rela- 
tives, when  they  heard  of  this  sudden  and  amazing  ac- 
tivity, after  the  calm  seclusion  of  thirty  unknown  and 
unnoticed  years.  As  yet  they  were  out  of  sympathy  with 
Him;  they  knew  Him  not,  did  not  fully  believe  in  Him; 
they  said,  "  He  is  beside  Himself."  It  was  needful  that 
they  should  be  henceforth  taught  bysevei'al  decisive  proofs 
that  He  was  not  of  them;  that  this  was  no  longer  the  Car- 
penter, the  brother  of  James  and  Joses  and  Judas  and 
Simon,  but  the  Son  of  God,  the  Saviour  of  the  world. 


150  THE  LIFE  OF  CUBIST. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

JESUS  AT  NAIN. 

If  the  common  reading  iu  the  text  of  St.  Luke  (vii.  11) 
be  right,  it  was  on  the  very  clay  after  these  events  that  our 
Lord  took  His  way  from  Capernaum  to  Nain.  Possibly — 
for,  iu  the  dim  uncertainties  of  the  chronological  sequence, 
much  scope  must  be  left  to  pure  conjecture — the  incident 
of  His  having  touched  the  leper  may  have  tended  to 
hasten  His  temporary  departure  from  Capernaum  by  the 
comments  which  the  act  involved. 

Naiu  —  now  a  squalid  and  miserable  village  —  is  about 
twenty-five  miles  from  Capernaum,  and  lies  on  the  north- 
west slope  of  Jebel  el-Duhy,  or  Little  Hermon.  The  name 
(which  it  still  retains)  means  "fair," and  its  situation  near 
Endor — nestling  picturesquely  on  the  hill-sloi^es  of  the 
graceful  mountain,  and  full  in  view  of  Tabor  and  the 
heights  of  Zebulon — justifies  the  flattering  title.  Starting, 
as  Orientals  always  do,  early  in  the  cool  morning  hours, 
Jesus,  in  all  probability,  sailed  to  the  southern  end  of  the 
lake,  and  then  passed  down  the  Jordan  valley,  to  the  spot 
■where  the  wadies  of  the  Esdraelon  slope  down  to  it  ;  from 
which  point,  leaving  Mount  Tabor  on  the  right  hand,  and 
Endor  on  the  left,  He  might  easily  have  arrived  at  the  little 
village  soon  after  noon. 

At  this  bright  and  welcome  period  of  His  ministry,  He 
was  usually  accompanied,  not  only  by  His  disciples,  but 
also  by  rejoicing  and  adoring  crowds.  And  as  this  glad 
procession,  so  full  of  their  high  hopes  ami  too-often  erring 
beliefs  about  the  coming  King,  was  climbing  the  narrow 
ami  rocky  ascent  which  leads  to  the  gate  of  Nain,  they 
were  met  by  another  and  a  sad  procession  issuing  through 
it  to  bury  a  dead  youth  outside  the  walls.  Thei'e  was  a 
pathos  deeper  than  ordinary  in  the  spectacle,  and  there- 
fore probably,  in  that  emotional  race,  a  wail  wilder  and 
sincerer  than  the  ordinary  lamentation.  For  this  boy  was 
— in  language  which  is  all  the  more  deeply  moving  from 
its  absolute  simplicity,  and  which  to  Jewish  ears  would 
have  involved  a  sense  of  anguish  yet  deeper  than  to  ours — 


JESUS  AT  NAIN.  151 

*'the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  a  widow."  The 
sight  of  this  terrible  sorrow  appealed  irresistibly  to  the 
Saviour's  loving  and  gentle  heart.  Pausing  only  to  say  to 
the  motiier,  "  Weep  not,"  He  approached,  and — heedless 
once  more  of  purely  ceremonial  observances — touched  the 
bier,  or  rather  the  open  coffin  in  which  the  dead  youth  lay. 
It  must  have  been  a  moment  of  intense  and  breathless  ex- 
pectation. Unbidden,  but  filled  with  undefinable  awe,  the 
bearers  of  the  bier  stood  still.  And  then  through  the  hearts 
of  the  stricken  mourners,  and  through  the  hearts 
of  the  silent  multitude,  there  thrilled  the  calm  utterance, 
"  Young  man,  arise  !"  Would  that  dread  monosyllable 
thrill  also  through  the  unknown  mysterious  solitudes  of 
death?  would  it  thrill  through  the  impenetrable  darkness 
of  the  niore-than-mid night  which  has  ever  concealed  from 
human  vision  the  world  beyond  the  grave?  It  did.  The 
dead  got  up,  and  began  to  speak;  and  He  delivered  him  to 
his  mother. 

No  wonder  that  a  great  fear  fell  upon  all.  They  might 
have  thought  of  Elijah  and  the  widow  of  Serepta  ;  of 
Elisha  and  the  lady  of  the  not  far  distant  Shnnem.  They 
too,  the  greatest  of  the  Prophets,  had  restored  to  lonely 
won)en  their  dead  only  sons.  But  tliey  had  done  it  with 
agonies  and  energies  of  supplication,  wrestling  in  prayer, 
and  lying  outstretched  upon  the  dead  ;  whereas  Jesus  had 
wrougiit  the  miracle  calmly,  incidentally,  instantaneously, 
in  His  own  name,  by  His  own  authority,  with  a  single 
word.  Could  they  judge  otherwise  than  that  ''  God  had 
visited  His  people?" 

It  was  about  tliis  time,  possibly  even  on  this  same  day, 
that  our  Lord  received  a  short  but  agitated  message  from 
His  own  great  forerunner,  John  the  Baptist.  Its  very 
brevity  added  to  the  sense  of  doubt  and  sadness  which  it 
breathed.  ''Art  thou,"  he  asked,  "  the  coining  Messiah, 
or  are  we  to  expect  another?" 

Was  tliis  a  message  from  him  who  had  first  recognized 
and  pointed  out  the  Lamb  of  God  ?  from  iiim  who,  in  the 
rapture  of  vision,  had  seen  lieaven  onened  and  the  Spirit 
descending  on  the  head  of  Jesus  like  a  dove  ? 

It  may  be  so.  Some  have  indeed  imagined  that  the 
message  was  merely  intended  to  satisfy  the  doubts  of  the 
Baptist's   jealous  and  disheartened  followers  ;  some,  that 


152  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

his  question  only  meant,  "  Art  Thou  indeed  the  Jesus  to 
whom  I  bore  my  testimony  ?"  some,  that  the  message  im- 
plied no  latent  hesitation,  bnt  was  intended  as  a  timid 
suggestion  tiiat  the  time  was  now  come  for  Jesus  to  mani- 
fest Himself  as  the  Messiali  of  His  nation's  tlieocratic 
hopes — perhaps  even  as  a  gentle  rebuke  to  Him  for  allow- 
ing His  friend  and  forerunner  to  languish  in  a  dungeon, 
and  not  exerting  on  his  behalf  the  miraculous  power  of 
which  these  rumors  told.  I'nt  these  suggestions — all  in- 
tended, as  it  were,  to  save  the  ci'edit  of  tlie  Baptist — are 
at  tlie  best  wholly  umuithorized,  and  are  partly  refuted  by 
the  actual  ex^n-essions  of  the  narrative.  St.  John  the  Baptist 
in  his  heroic  greatness  needs  not  the  poor  aid  of  our 
charitable  suppositions  :  we  conclude  from  the  express 
words  of  Him,  who  at  this  very  crisis  pronounced  upon 
him  the  most  splendid  eulogy  ever  breathed  over  mortal 
man,  that  the  great  and  noble  prophet  had  indeed,  for  the 
moment,  found  a  stumbling-block  to  his  faith  in  what  he 
heard  about  the  Christ. 

And  is  this  unnatural  ?  is  it  an  indecision  which  any  one 
who  knows  anything  of  the  human  heart  will  venture  for 
a  moment  to  condemn  ?  The  course  of  the  greatest  of  the 
Prophets  had  been  brief  and  tragical — a  sad  calendar  of 
disaster  ami  eclipse.  Though  all  men  flocked  in  multi- 
tudes to  listen  to  the  fiery  preacher  of  the  wilderness,  the 
real  effect  on  the  mind  of  the  nation  had  been  neither 
permanent  nor  deep.     AVc  may  say  with  the  Scotch  poet — 

"  Who  listened  to  his  voice  ?  obeyed  bis  cry  ? 
Only  the  ecboes  wbicb  be  made  relent 
Eang  from  tbeir  flinty  caves,  '  Repent !  repent  !'" 

Even  before  Jesus  had  come  forth  in  the  fullness  of  His 
ministry,  tlie  ])ower  and  influence  of  John  had  paled  like 
a  star  before  the  sunrise.  He  must  have  felt  very  soon — 
and  that  is  a  very  bitter  thing  for  any  human  heart  to  feel 
— that  his  mission  for  this  life  was  over  ;  that  nothing 
appreciable  remained  for  him  to  do.  Similar  moments  of 
intense  and  heart-breaking  despondency  had  already  oc- 
curred in  the  lives  of  his  very  greatest  predecessors — in 
the  lives  of  even  a  Moses  and  an  Elijah.  But  the  case 
was  far  worse  with  John  the  Baptist  than  with  them.  For 
though  his  Fi'iend  and  his  Saviour  was  living,  was  at  no 


JESUS  A  T  NAIN.  153 

great  distance  from  him,  was  in  the  full  tide  of  His  influ- 
ence, and  was  daily  working  the  miracles  of  love  which 
attested  His  mission,  yet  John  saw  that  Friend  and  Saviour 
on  earth  no  more.  There  were  no  visits  to  console,  no 
intercourse  to  sustain  him  ;  he  was  surrounded  only  by  the 
coldness  of  listeners  whose  curiosity  had  waned,  and  the 
jealousy  of  disciples  wliom  his  main  testimony  had  dis- 
heartened. And  then  came  the  miserable  climax.  Herod 
Antipas — the  pettiest,  meanest,  weakest,  most  contempti- 
ble of  titular  princelings — partly  influenced  by  political 
fears,  partly  enraged  by  Joiin's  just  and  blunt  rebuke  of 
his  adulterous  life,  thougli  at  first  he  had  listened  to  the 
Baptist  with  the  superstition  which  is  the  usual  concomi- 
tant of  cunning,  had  ended  by  an  uxoi'ious  concession  to 
the  hatred  of  Herodias,  and  had  flung  him  into  prison. 

Josephus  tells  us  that  this  prison  was  the  fortress  of 
Machgerus,  or  Makor,  a  strong  and  gloomy  castle,  built  by 
Alexander  Jannaeus  and  strengthened  by  Herod  the  Great 
— on  the  borders  of  the  desert,  to  the  north  of  the  Dead 
Sea,  and  on  the  frontiers  of  Arabia.  We  know  enough  of 
solitary  castles  and  Eastern  dungeons  to  realize  what  hor- 
rors must  have  been  involved  for  any  man  in  such  an 
imprisonment ;  what  possibilities  of  agonizing  torture, 
what  daily  risk  of  a  violent  and  unknown  death.  How 
often  in  the  world's  history  have  even  the  most  generous 
and  dauntless  spirits  been  crushed  and  effeminated  by 
such  hopeless  captivity  I  When  the  first  noble  rage,  or 
heroic  resignation,  is  over — when  tlie  iron-hearted  'endur- 
ance is  corroded  by  forced  inactivity  and  maddening  soli- 
tude— when  the  great  heart  is  cowed  by  the  physical 
lassitude  and  despair  of  a  life  left  to  rot  away  in  the  lonely 
darkness — who  can  be  answerable  for  the  level  of  depres- 
sion to  which  he  may  sink  ?  Savonarola,  and  Jerome  of 
Prague,  and  Luther  were  men  whose  courage,  like  that  of 
the  Baptist,  had  enabled  them  to  stand  unquailing  before 
any  councils  and  threatening  kings  :  will  any  one,  in  form- 
ing an  estimate  of  their  goodness  and  their  greatness,  add 
one  shade  of  condemnation  because  of  the  wavering 
of  the  first  and  of  the  second  in  the  prison-cells  of 
Florence  and  Constance,  or  the  phantasies  of  incipient 
madness  which  agitated,  in  the  castle  of  Wartburg,  the 
ardent  spirit  of  the  third?    And  yet  to  St.  John  the  Baptist 


154  TUB  LIFE  OF  UHRIST. 

iniprisoiimeiit  must  have  been  a  deadlier  thing  than  even 
to  Luther  ;  for  in  tlie  free  wild  life  of  the  hermit  he  had 
lived  in  constant  communion  with  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  nature,  had  breathed  with  delight  and  liberty  the  free 
winds  of  the  wilderness,  and  gazed  with  a  sense  of  com- 
panionship on  the  large  stars  which  beam  from  the  clear 
vault  of  the  Eastern  night.  To  a  child  of  freedom  and  of 
passion,  to  a  rugged,  passionate,  untamed  spirit  like  that 
of  John,  a  prison  was  worse  than  death.  For  the  palms 
of  Jericlio  and  the  balsams  of  Engedi,  for  the  springing  of 
the  beautiful  gazelles  amid  the  mountain  solitudes,  and 
the  reflection  of  the  mooidight  on  the  mysterious  waves 
of  the  Salt  Lake,  he  had  iiotbing  now  but  the  chilly  damps 
and  cramping  fetters  of  a  dungeon,  and  the  brutalities  of 
such  a  jailer  as  a  tetrarch  like  Antipas  would  have  kept  in 
a  fortress  like  Makor.  In  that  black  prison,  among  its 
lava  streams  and  basaltic  rocks,  which  was  tenanted  in 
reality  by  far  worse  demons  of  human  brutality  and  human 
vice  than  the  "goats"  and  "satyrs"  and  doleful  creat- 
ures believed  by  Jewish  legend  to  haunt  its  whole  environ- 
ment, we  cannot  wonder  if  the  eye  of  the  caged  eagle  began 
to  film. 

Not  once  or  twice  alone  in  the  world's  history  has  God 
seemed  to  make  His  very  best  and  greatest  servants  drink 
to  the  very  dregs  the  cup  of  apparent  failure— called  them 
suddenly  away  by  the  sharp  stroke  of  martyrdom,  or  down 
the  long  declivities  of  a  lingering  disease,  before  even  a 
distant*  view  of  their  work  has  been  vouchsafed  to  them  ; 
flung  them,  as  it  were,  aside  like  broken  instruments,  use- 
less for  their  destined  purpose,  ere  He  crowned  with  an 
immortality  of  success  and  blessing  the  lives  which  fools 
regarded  as  madness,  and  the  end  that  has  been  without 
human  honor.  It  is  but  a  part  of  that  merciful  fire  in 
which  He  is  purging  away  the  dross  from  the  seven-times- 
refined  gold  of  a  spirit  which  shall  be  worthy  of  eternal 
bliss.  But  to  none  could  this  disciplinary  tenderness  have 
come  in  more  terrible  disguise  than  to  St.  John.  For  he 
seemed  to  be  neglected  not  only  by  Gcd  above,  but  by  the 
living  Son  of  God  on  earth.  John  was  pining  in  Herod's 
prison  while  Jesus,  in  the  glad  simplicity  of  His  early 
Galil^eau  ministry,  was  preaciiing  to  rejoicing  multitudes 
among  the  mountain  lilies  or  from  the  waves  of  the  pleas- 


JES  US  A  T  NAIN.  155 

ant  lake.  Oh,  why  did  his  Father  in  heaven  and  his 
Friend  on  earth  suffer  him  to  languish  in  this  soul-cloud- 
ing misery  ?  Had  not  his  life  been  innocent  ?  had  not  his 
ministry  been  faithful  ?  had  not  his  testimony  been  true? 
Oh,  why  did  not  He,  to  whom  he  had  borne  witness  beyond 
Jordan,  call  down  fire  from  heaven  to  shatter  those  foul 
and  guilty  towers  ?  Among  so  many  miracles  might  not 
one  be  spared  to  the  unhappy  kinsman  who  had  gone 
before  His  face  to  prepare  his  way  before  Him  ?  Among 
80  many  words  of  mercy  and  tenderness  might  woi  some  be 
vouchsafed  to  him  v.ho  had  uttered  that  Voice  in  the  wil- 
derness? Why  should  not  the  young  Son  of  David  rock 
witl]  earthquake  the  foundations  of  these  Iduma^an  pris- 
ons, where  many  a  noble  captive  had  been  unjustly  slain, 
or  send  but  one  of  His  twelve  legions  of  angels  to  liberate 
His  forerunner  and  His  friend,  were  it  but  to  restore  him 
to  his  desert  solitude  once  more — content  there  to  end  his 
life  among  the  wild  beasts,  so  it  were  far  from  man's 
tyrannous  infamy,  and  nnder  God's  open  sky  ?  What 
wonder,  we  say  again,  if  the  eye  of  the  caged  eagle  began 
to  film  ! 

"Art  thou  he  tliat  should  come,  or  do  we  look  for  an- 
other ?  " 

Jesus  did  not  directly  answer  the  question.  He  showed 
the  messengers,  He  let  them  see  with  their  own  eyes,  some 
of  the  works  of  whicli  hitherto  they  had  only  heard  by  the 
hearing  of  the  ear.  And  then,  with  a  reference  so  the  61st 
chapter  of  Isaiah,  He  bade  them  take  back  to  their  master 
the  message,  that  blind  men  saw,  and  lame  walked,  and 
lepers  were  cleansed,  and  deaf  heard,  and  dead  were  raised; 
and  above  all,  and  more  than  all,  that  to  the  poor  the  glad 
tidings  were  being  preached  :  and  then,  we  can  imagine 
with  how  deep  a  tenderness.  He  added,  "And  blessed  is 
he  whosoever  shall  not  be  offended  in  Me  " — blessed  (that 
is)  is  he  who  shall  trust  Me,  even  in  spite  of  sorrow  and 
persecution — he  who  shall  believe  that  I  know  to  the  utmost 
the  will  of  Him  that  sent  Me,  and  how  and  when  to  finish 
His  work. 

We  may  easily  suppose,  though  nothing  more  is  told  us, 
that  the  disciples  did  not  depart  without  receiving  from 
Jesus  other  words  of  private  affection  and  encouragement 
for  the  grand  prisoner  whose  end  was  now  so  nearly  ap- 


156  THli:  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

liroacl.iiig — words  which  wonhl  be  to  liim  sweeter  than  tlio 
honey  which  had  sustained  his  hunger  in  the  wiklerness, 
dearer  tlian  water-s[)rings  in  the  dry  ground.  And  no 
sooner  luid  the  disci})Ies  departed,  than  lie  who  woukl  not 
seem  to  be  gnilty  of  idle  flattei-y,  but  yet  wished  to  prevent 
His  lieai'ers  from  ehei'isliing  one  depreciatory  thought  of 
the  great  I'ropliet  of  the  Desert,  uttei'ed  over  His  friend 
and  forerunner,  in  hmguage  of  rythmic  and  perfect  love- 
liness, the  memorable  eulogy,  that  he  was  indeed  the 
promised  Voice  in  the  new  dawn  of  a  nobler  day,  the 
greatest  of  all  God's  herald  messengers — the  Elias  who, 
according  to  the  last  word  of  ancient  prophecy,  was  to 
precede  the  Advent  of  the  Messiah,  and  to  prepare  His 
way. 

"  What  went  yon  out  in  the  wilderness  for  to  see  ? 

"  A  reed  shaken  by  the  wind  ? 

"But  what  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ? 

"A  man  clothed  in  soft  raiment  ? 

"  Behold,  they  that  wear  soft  clothing  are  in  kings' 
houses  ! 

"  But  what  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ? 

^' A  prophet  ? 

"Yea,  I  say  unto  you,  and  far  more  than  a  prophet. 
For  this  is  he  of  whom  it  is  written,  Behold,  I  send  My 
messenger  before  Thy  face,  who  shall  prepare  Thy  way 
before  Thee." 

And  having  pronounced  this  rhythmic  and  impassioned 
eulogy.  He  proceeded  to  speak  to  them  more  calmly  re- 
specting Himself  and  Joim,  and  to  tell  them  that  though 
John  was  the  last  and  the  greatest  of  the  Old  Dispensation, 
yet  the  least  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  greater  than 
he.  The  brevity  with  which  the  words  are  repeated  leaves 
their  meaning  uncertain  ;  but  the  superiority  intended  is 
a  superiority  doubtless  in  spiritual  privileges,  not  in 
moral  exaltation.  "The  least  of  that  which  is  greatest," 
says  a  legal  maxim,  "  is  greater  tlian  the  greatest  of  that 
which  is  least;"  and  in  revealed  knowledge,  in  illimitable 
hope,  in  conscious  closeness  of  relationship  to  His  Father 
and  His  God,  the  humblest  child  of  the  New  Covenant  is 
more  richly  endowed  than  the  greatest  prophet  of  the  Old, 
And  into  that  kingdom  of  God  whose  advent  was  now 
proclaimed,  henceforth  with  holy  and  happy  violence  they 


THE  SINNER  AND  THE  PHARISEE.  157 

all  might  press.  Such  eager  violence — uutural  to  those 
who  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness — would  be  only 
acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God. 

Many  who  heard  these  words,  and  especially  the  publi- 
cans and  those  wlio  were  scorned  as  the  "  people  of  the 
earth,"  accepted  with  joy  and  gratitude  this  approbation 
,<»f  their  confidence  in  John.  But  there  were  others — the 
accredited  teachers  of  the  written  and  oral  Law — who 
listened  to  such  words  with  contemptuous  dislike.  Struck 
with  these  contrasts,  Jesus  drew  an  illustration  from 
peevish  children  who  fretfully  reject  every  effort  of  their 
fellows  to  delight  or  to  amuse  them.  Nothing  could  please 
such  soured  and  rebellious  natures.  The  flute  and  dance 
of  the  little  ones  who  played  at  weddings  charmed  them 
as  little  as  the  long  wail  of  the  simulated  funeral.  God's 
"  richly- variegated  wisdom  "  had  been  exhibited  to  them 
in  many  fragments,  and  by  many  methods,  yet  all  in  vain. 
John  had  come  to  them  in  the  stern  asceticism  of  the 
hermit,  and  they  called  him  mad ;  Jesus  joined  in  the 
banquet  and  marriage -feast,  and  they  called  Him  "an 
eater  and  a  wine-drinker."  Even  so  !  yet  Wisdom  has 
been  ever  justified  at  her  children's  liands.  Those  chil- 
dren have  not  disgraced  their  divine  original.  Fools 
might  account  their  life  as  madness,  and  their  end  to  be 
without  honor;  but  how  is  the  very  humblest  of  them 
numbered  among  the  children  of  God,  and  their  lot  among 
the  saints ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   SINNER   AND   THE    PHARISEE. 

But  not  even  yet  apparently  were  the  deeds  and  sayings 
of  this  memorable  day  concluded  ;  for  in  the  narrative  of 
St.  Luke  it  seems  to  have  been  on  the  same  day  that,  per- 
haps at  Nain,  perhaps  at  Alagdala,  Jesus  received  and 
accepted  an  invitation  from  one  of  the  Pharisees  who  boro 
the  very  common  name  of  Simon, 

The  cause  or  object  of  the  invitation  we  do  not  know;  but 
as  yet  Jesus  had  come  to  no  marked  or  open  rupture  with 
the  Pharisaic  party,  and   they  may  even   have  imagined 


158  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

that  lie  niiglit  prove  of  use  to  tliem  as  the  docile  instru- 
ment of  their  political  ami  social  purposes.  Probably,  in  in- 
viting him,  Simon  vvasiniluenced  partly  by  curiosity,  partly 
by  the  desire  to  receive  a  popular  and  distinguished 
teacher,  partly  by  willingness  to  show  a  distant  approval 
of  something  which  may  have  struck  him  in  Christ's  looks, 
or  words,  or  ways.  It  is  quite  clear  that  the  hospitality 
was  meant  to  be  qualified  and  condescending.  AH  the 
ordiiuiry  attentions  which  would  have  been  paid  to  an 
honored  guest  were  coldly  and  cautiously  omitted.  There 
was  no  water  for  the  weary  and  dusty  feet,  no  kiss  of  wel- 
come upon  the  cheek,  no  perfume  for  the  hair,  notliing 
but  a  somewhat  ungracious  admission  to  a  vacant  place  at 
the  table,  and  the  most  distant  courtesies  of  ordinary 
intercourse,  so  managed  that  the  Guest  might  feel  that 
he  was  supposed  to  be  receiving  an  honor,  and  not  to  be 
conferring  one. 

In  order  that  the  mats  or  carpets  which  are  hallowed  by 
domestic  prayer  may  not  be  reiulered  unclean  by  any 
pollution  of  the  streets,  each  guest,  as  he  enters  a  house  in 
Syria  or  Palestine,  takes  off  his  sandals,  and  leaves  them 
at  the  door.  He  then  proceeds  to  his  place  at  the  table. 
In  ancient  times,  as  we  find  throughout  the  Old  Testament, 
it  was  the  custom  of  the  Jews  to  eat  their  meals  sitting 
cross-legged — as  is  still  common  throughout  the  East — in 
front  of  a  tray  placed  on  a  low  stool,  on  which  is  set  the 
dish  containing  the  heap  of  food,  from  which  all  help 
themselves  in  common.  But  this  custom,  though  it  has 
been  resumed  for  centuries,  appears  to  have  been  abandoned 
by  the  Jews  in  the  period  succeeding  the  Captivity. 
Whether  they  had  borrowed  the  recumbent  posture  at 
meals  from  the  Persians  or  not,  it  is  certain,  from  the  ex- 
pressions employed,  that  in  the  time  of  our  Lord  the  Jews, 
like  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  reclined  at  banquets,  upon 
conches  placed  round  tables  of  much  the  same  height  as 
those  now  in  use.  We  shall  see  hereafter  that  even  the 
Passover  was  eaten  in  this  attitude.  The  beautiful  and 
profoundly  moving  incident  which  occurred  in  Simon's 
house  can  only  be  understood  by  remembering  that  as  the 
guests  lay  on  the  couches  which  surrounded  the  tables, 
their  feet  would  be  turned  toward  any  spectators  who  were 
standing  outside  the  circle  of  bidden  guests. 


THE  SINNER  AND  THE  PHARISEE.  159 

An  Oriental's  liouse  is  by  no  means  his  castle.  The 
universal  prevalence  of  the  law  of  hospitality — the  very 
first  of  Eastern  virtues — almost  forces  him  to  live  with 
open  doors,  and  any  one  may  at  any  time  have  access  to 
his  rooms.  But  on  this  occasion  there  was  one  who  had 
summoned  up  courage  to  intrude  upon  that  respectable 
dwelling-place  a  presence  which  was  not  only  unwelcome, 
but  positively  odious.  A  poor,  stained,  fallen  woman, 
notorious  in  the  place  for  her  evil  life,  discovering  that 
Jesus  was  supping  in  the  house  of  the  Pharisee,  ventured 
to  make  her  way  there  among  the  thi'ong  of  other  visi- 
tants carrying  with  her  an  alabaster  box  of  spikenard. 
She  found  the  object  of  her  search,  and  as  she  stood 
humbly  behind  Him,  and  listened  to  His  words,  and 
thought  of  all  that  He  was,  and  all  to  which  she  had 
fallen — thought  of  the  stainless,  sinless  purity  of  the  holy 
and  youthful  Prophet,  and  of  her  own  shameful  degraded 
life — she  began  to  weep,  and  her  tears  dropped  fast  upon 
His  uusandalled  feet,  over  which  she  bent  lower  and  lower 
to  hide  her  confusion  and  her  shame.  The  Pharisee 
would  have  started  back  with  horror  from  the  touch,  still 
more  from  the  tear,  of  such  an  one;  he  would  have  wiped 
away  the  fancied  pollution,  and  driven  off  the  presumptu- 
ous intruder  with  a  curse.  But  this  woman  felt  instinct- 
ively that  Jesus  would  not  treat  her  so  ;  she  felt  that  the 
highest  sinlessness  is  also  the  deepest  sympathy;  she  saw 
that  where  the  hard  respectability  of  her  fellow-sinner 
would  repel,  the  perfect  holiness  of  her  Saviour  would  re- 
ceive, Perliaps  she  had  heard  those  infinitely  tender  and 
gracious  words  which  may  have  been  uttered  on  this  very 
day — "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden 
and  I  will  give  you  rest."  And  she  was  emboldened  by 
being  unreproved  ;  and  thus  becoming  conscious  that, 
whatever  others  might  do,  the  Lord  at  any  I'ate  did 
not  loathe  or  scorn  her,  she  drew  yet  nearer  to  Him,  and, 
sinking  down  upon  her  knees,  began  with  her  long  dishev- 
eled hair  to  wipe  the  feet  which  had  been  wetted  with  her 
tears,  and  then  to  cover  them  with  kisses,  and  at  last — 
breaking  the  alabaster  vase — to  bathe  them  with  the 
precious  and  fragrant  nard. 

The  sight  of  that  disheveled   woman,  the  shame  of   her 
humiliation,  the  agonies  of  her  penitence,  the  quick  drop- 


160  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRIST, 

ping  of  her  tears,  tlie  sacrifice  of  that  iierfiniie  which  had 
been  one  of  tlie  instruments  of  her  unhallowed  arts, 
might  have  touched  even  the  stoniest  feelings  into  an  emo- 
tion of  sympatliy.  V>uX,  Simon,  the  Pharisee,  looked  on 
with  icy  dislike  and  disa])proval.  The  irresistible  appeal 
to  pity  of  that  despairing  and  broken-hearted  mourner  did 
not  move  him.  It  was  not  enough  for  him  that  Jesus  had 
but  suffered  the  unhappy  creature  to  kiss  and  anoint  His 
feet,  without  speaking  to  her  as  yet  one  word  of  encour- 
agement. Hue!  he  been  a  prophet,  He  ought  to  have 
known  what  kind  of  woman  she  was  ;  and  had  He  known 
He  ought  to  have  repulsed  her  with  contempt  and  indig- 
nation, as  Simon  would  himself  have  done.  Her  mere 
touch  almost  involved  the  necessity  of  a  ceremonial  quar- 
antine. One  sign  from  Him,  and  Simon  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  for  ejecting  such  a  pollution 
from  the  shelter  of  his  roof. 

The  Pliarisee  did  not  utter  these  thoughts  aloud,  but 
his  frigid  demeanor,  and  the  contemptuous  expression  of 
countenance,  which  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  dis- 
guise, showed  all  that  was  passing  in  his  heart.  Our 
Lord  heard  his  thoughts,  but  did  not  at  once  reprove  and 
expose  his  cold  uncharity  and  unrelenting  hardness.  In 
order  to  call  general  attention  to  his  Avords,  he  addressed 
his  host: 

''  Simon,  I  have  something  to  say  to  thee." 

"  Master,  say  on,"  is  the  somewhat  constrained  reply. 

''There  Vv'as  a  certain  creditor  who  had  two  debtors;  the 
one  owed  five  hundred  pence,  and  the  other  fifty;  and 
when  they  had  nothing  to  pay,  he  freely  forgave  them 
both.     Tell  me  then,  whicli  of  them  will  love  him  most?" 

Simon  does  not  seem  to  have  had  the  slightest  conception 
that  the  question  had  any  reference  of  himself — as  little 
conception  as  David  had  when  he  pronounced  so  frank  a 
judgment  on  Nathan's  parable. 

"  I  imagine,"  he  said — there  is  a  touch  of  supercilious 
patronage,  of  surprised  inditference  to  the  whole  matter  in 
the  word  he  uses — "I  presume  that  he  to  whom  he  for- 
gave most." 

"Thou  hast  rightly  judged."  And  then — the  sterner 
for  its  very  gentleness  and  forbearance — came  the  moral 
and  a2)plication  of  the  little  tale,  couched  in  that  rhythmic 


THE  SINNER  AND  THE  PHARISEE.  IGl 

utterance  of  antithetic  parallelism  which  our  Lord  often 
adopted  in  His  loftier  teaching,  and  which  appealed  like 
the  poetry  of  their  own  prophets  to  the  ears  of  those  who 
heard  it.  Though  Simon  may  not  have  seen  the  point  of 
the  parable,  perhaps  the  penitent,  with  the  quicker  intui- 
tion of  a  contrite  heart,  liad  seen  it.  But  what  must  have 
been  her  emotion  when  He  who  hitherto  had  not  noticed 
her,  now  turned  full  toward  her,  and  calling  the  attention 
of  all  who  were  present  to  her  shrinking  tigure,  as  she  sat 
upon  the  ground,  hiding  with  her  two  hands  and  with  her 
dishevelled  hair  the  confusion  of  her  face,  exclaimed  to 
the  astonished  Pharisee: 

"Simon!  dosi"  thou  mark  this  woman? 

"I  was  thine  own  guest:  thou  pouredst  no  water  over 
My  feet;  but  she,  with  her  tears,  washed  My  feet,  and 
with  her  hair  she  wiped  them. 

"  No  kiss  gavest  thou  to  Me  ;  but  she,  since  the  time  I 
came  in,  has  been  ceaselessly  covering  My  feet  with  kisses. 

"  My  head  with  oil  thou  anointedst  not ;  but  she  with 
spikenard  anointed  My  feet. 

''  Wherefore  I  say  to  you,  her  sins — her  many  sins,  have 
been  forgiven  ;  but  he  to  whom  there  is  but  little  forgive- 
ness, loveth  little." 

And  then,  like  the  rich  close  of  gracious  music,  He 
added,  no  longer  to  Simon,  but  to  the  poor  sinful  woman, 
the  words  of  mercy,  "Thy  sins  have  been  forgiven." 

Our  Lord's  words  were  constantly  a  new  revelation  for 
all  who  heard  them,  and  if  we  may  judge  from  many  little 
indications  in  the  Gospels,  they  seem  often  to  have  been 
followed,  in  the  early  days  of  His  ministry,  by  a  shock  of 
surprised  silence,  which  at  a  later  date,  among  those  who 
rejected  Him,  broke  out  into  fierce  reproaches  and  indig- 
nant murmurs.  At  this  stage  of  His  work,  the  spell  of 
awe  and  majesty  produced  by  His  love  and  purity,  and  by 
that  inward  Divinity  which  shone  in  His  countenance  and 
sounded  in  His  voice,  had  not  yet  been  broken.  It  was 
only  in  their  secret  thouglits  that  the  guests — rather,  it 
seems,  in  astonishment  than  in  wrath — ventured  to  ques- 
tion this  calm  and  simple  claim  to  a  more  than  earthly 
attribute.  It  was  only  in  their  hearts  that  they  silently 
mused  and  questioned,  '-  Who  is  this,  wlio  forgiveth  sins 
also?"    Jesus  knew  their  inward   hesitations  ;  but  it  had 


162  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

been  prophesieil  of  Ilitn  tliat  "lie  should  not  strive  nor 
cry,  neitlier  should  His  voice  be  heard  in  the  street  ;"  and 
because  lie  would  not  break  the  bruised  reed  of  their  faith, 
or  quench  the  smoking  flax  of  their  reverent  amazement. 
He  gently  sent  away  the  woman  who  had  been  a  sinner 
with  tlie  kind  words,  "  Thy  faith  hath  saved  thee:  go  into 
peace."  And  to  peace  beyond  all  doubt  she  went,  even  to 
the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  understanding,  to  the 
peace  which  Jesus  gives,  which  is  not  as  the  world  gives. 
To  the  general  lesson  which  her  story  inculcates  we  shall 
return  hereafter,  for  it  is  one  which  formed  a  central  doc- 
trine of  Christ's  revelation;  I  mean  the  lesson  that  cold  and 
selfish  hypocrisy  is  in  the  sight  of  God  as  hateful  as  more 
glaring  sin  ;  the  lesson  that  a  life  of  sinful  and  impenitent 
respectability  may  be  no  less  deadly  and  dangerous  than  a 
life  of  open  shame.  But  meanwhile  the  touching  words 
of  an  English  poet  may  serve  as  the  best  comment  on  this 
beautiful  incident: 

"  She  sat  and  wept  beside  liis  feet  ;  the  weight 
Of  sin  oppressed  lier  heart ;  for  all  the  blame, 
And  the  poor  malice  of  the  worldly  shame, 
To  her  were  past,  extinct  and  out  of  date  ; 
Only  the  sin  remained — the  leprous  state. 
She  would  be  melted  by  the  heat  of  love. 
By  fires  far  fiercer  than  are  blown  to  prove 
And  purge  the  silver  ore  adulterate. 
She  sat  and  wept,  and  with  her  untressed  hair. 
Still  wiped  the  feet  she  was  so  blessed  to  touch  ; 
And  he  wiped  off  the  soiling  of  despair 
From  her  sweet  soul,  because  she  loved  so  much." 

An  ancient  tradition — especially  prevalent  in  the  West- 
ern Church,  and  followed  by  the  translators  of  our  English 
version — a  tradition  which,  though  it  must  ever  remain 
nncertain,  is  not  in  itself  improbable,  and  cannot  be  dis- 
proved— identifies  this  woman  with  Mary  of  Magdala,  "out 
of  whom  Jesus  cast  seven  devils."  Thisexorcism  is  not  else- 
where alluded  to,  and  it  would  be  perfectly  in  accordance 
with  the  genius  of  Hebrew  phraseology  if  the  expression  had 
been  applied  to  her  in  consecpience  of  a  passionate  nature 
and  an  abandoned  life.  The  Talmudists  have  much  to  say 
respecting  her — her  wealth,  her  exti-eme  beauty,  her  braided 
locks,  her  shameless  pi'ofligacy,  her  husband  Pappus,  and 
her  paramour,  Paudera ;  but  all  that  we  really  know  of  the 


THE  SINNER  AND  THE  PHARISEE.  16,1 

Magdalene  from  Scripture  is  that  entluisiastn  of  devotion 
and  gratitude  which  attached  her,  heart  and  soul,  to  her 
Saviour's  service.  In  the  ciuipter  of  St.  Luke  which  fol- 
lows this  incident  she  is  mentioned  tirst  among  the  women 
who  accompanied  Jesus  in  His  wanderings,  and  ministered 
to  Him  of  their  substance  ;  and  it  may  be  that  in  the 
narrative  of  the  incident  at  Simon's  house  her  name  was 
suppressed  out  of  that  delicate  consideration  which,  in 
other  passages,  makes  the  Evangelist  suppress  the  condi- 
tion of  Matthew  and  tiie  name  of  Peter.  It  may  be, 
indeed,  that  the  woman  who  was  a  sinner  went  to  find  the 
peace  which  Christ  had  promised  to  her  troubled  con- 
science in  a  life  of  deep  seclusion  and  obscurity,  which 
meditated  in  silence  on  the  merciful  forgiveness  of 
her  Lord  ;  but  in  the  popular  consciousness  she  will  till 
the  end  of  time  be  identified  with  the  Magdalene  whose 
very  name  has  passed  into  all  civilized  languages  as 
a  synonym  for  accepted  penitence  and  pardoned  sin.  The 
traveler  who,  riding  among  the  delicate  jDerfumes  of  many 
flowering  plants  on  the  shoi-es  of  Genncsareth,  comes  to 
the  ruinous  tower  and  solitary  palm-tree  that  mark  the 
Arab  village  of  El  Mejdel.  will  involuntarily  recall  this  old 
tradition  of  her  whose  sinful  beauty  and  deep  repentance 
have  made  the  name  of  Magdala  so  famous  ;  and  though 
the  few  miserable  peasant  huts  are  squalid  and  ruinous, 
and  the  inhabitants  are  living  in  ignorance  and  degrada- 
tion, he  will  still  look  with  interest  and  emotion 
on  a  site  which  brings  back  into  his  memory  one  of 
the  most  signal  proofs  that  no  one  —  not  even  the  most 
fallen  and  the  most  despised — is  regarded  as  an  outcast  bv 
Him  whose  very  work  it  was  to  seek  and  to  save  that 
which  was  lost.  Perhaps  in  the  balmy  air  of  Gennesareth, 
in  the  brightness  of  the  sky  above  his  head,  in  the  sound 
of  the  singing  birds  whicli  fills  the  air,  in  the  masses  of 
purple  blossom  which  at  some  seasons  of  the  year  festoons 
these  huts  of  mud,  he  may  see  a  type  of  the  love  and  ten- 
derness which  is  large  and  rich  enough  to  encircle  with 
the  grace  of  fresh  and  lie;ivenly  beauty  the  ruins  of  a  once 
earthly  and  desecrated  lif">. 


164  TEE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

JESUS  AS  HE  LIVED  IN  GALILEE. 

It  is  to  this  period  of  our  Lord's  earlier  ministry  that  those 
mission  journeys  belong — those  circuits  through  the  towns 
and  villages  of  Galilee,  teaching,  and  preaching,  and  per- 
forming works  of  mercy — which  are  so  frequently  alluded 
to  in  the  first  three  Gospels,  and  which  are  specially  men- 
tioned at  this  point  of  the  narrative  by  the  Evangelist  St. 
Luke.  "  He  walked  in  Galilee."  It  was  the  brightest, 
hopefullest,  most  active  episode  in  His  life.  Let  us,  in 
imagination,  stand  aside  and  see  him  pass,  and  so,  with  all 
humility  and  reverence,  set  before  us  as  vividly  as  we  can 
what  manner  of  man  He  was. 

Let  us  then  suppose  ourselves  to  mingle  with  any  one 
fragment  of  those  many  multitudes  which  at  this  period 
awaited  Him  at  every  point  of  His  career,  and  let  us  gaze 
on  Him  as  they  did  when  He  was  a  man  on  earth. 

We  are  on  that  little  plain  that  runs  between  the  hills 
of  Zebulon  and  Naphtali,  somewhere  between  the  villages 
of  Kefr  Kenna  and  the  so-called  Kana  el-Jalil.  A  sea  of 
corn,  fast  yellowing  to  the  harvest,  is  around  us,  and  the 
bright,  innumerable  flowers  that  broider  the  wayside  are 
richer  aiid  larger  than  those  of  home.  The  path  on  which 
we  stand  leads  in  one  direction  to  Accho  and  the  coast,  in 
the  other  over  the  summit  of  Hattin  to  the  Sea  of  Galilee. 
The  land  is  lovely  with  all  the  loveliness  of  a  spring  day 
in  Palestine,  but  the  hearts  of  the  eager,  excited  crowd, 
in  the  midst  of  whicli  we  stand,  are  too  much  occupied  by 
one  absorbing  thought  to  notice  its  beauty  ;  for  some  of 
them  are  blind,  and  sick,  and  lame,  and  they  know  not 
whether  to-day  a  finger  of  mercy,  a  word  of  healing — nay, 
even  the  touch  of  the  garment  of  this  great  Unknown 
Prophet  as  He  passes  by — may  not  alter  and  gladden  the 
whole  complexion  of  their  future  lives.  And  further 
back,  at  a  little  distance  from  tlie  crowd,  standing  among 
the  wheat,  with  covered  lips,  and  warning  off  all  who  ap- 
proached them  with  the  cry  Tame!  Tame  !  "\JnG\eii\\\ 
unclean  ! "  clad    in   mean  and   scanty  garments,  are  some 


JESUS  AS  HE  LIVED  IN  GALILEE.  165 

fearful  and   mutilated  figures  whom,    with  a  shudder,  we 
recognise  as  lepers. 

The  comments  of  the  crowd  show  that  many  different 
motives  have  brought  them  together.  Some  are  there 
from  interest,  some  from  curiosity,  some  from  the  vulgar 
contagion  of  enthusiasm  wliich  they  cannot  themselves 
explain.  Marvelous  tales  of  Him — of  His  mercy,  of  His 
power,  of  His  gracious  words,  of  His  mighty  deeds — are 
passing  from  lip  to  lip,  mingled,  doubtless,  with  suspicions 
and  calumnies.  One  or  two  Scribes  and  Pharisees  who 
are  present,  holding  themselves  a  little  apart  from  the 
crowd,  whisper  to  each  other  their  perplexities,  their  in- 
dignation, their  alarm. 

Suddenly  over  the  rising  ground,  at  no  great  distance, 
is  seen  the'cloud  of  dust  which  marks  an  approaching  com- 
pany; and  a  young  boy  of  Magdala  or  Bethsaida,  heedless 
of  the  scornful  reproaches  of  the  Scribes,  points  in  that 
direction,  and  runs  excitedly  forward  with  the  shout  of 
Mallca  Meshichah!  Malka  Mesldchah!  "the  King  Messiah! 
the  King  Messiah!"  which  even  on  youthful  lips  must  have 
quickened  the  heart-beats  of  a  simple  Galilaean  throng. 

And  now  the  throng  approaches.  It  is  a  motley  multi- 
tude of  young  and  old,  composed  mainly  of  peasants,  but 
with  others  of  higher  rank  interspersed  in  their  loose 
array — here  a  frowning  Pharisee,  there  a  gayly-clad  Herod- 
ian  whispering  to  some  Greek  merchant  or  Roman  soldier  his 
scoffing  comments  on  tlie  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd.  But 
these  are  the  few,  and  almost  every  eye  of  that  large  throng 
is  constantly  directed  toward  One  who  stands  in  the  center 
of  the  separate  group  which  the  crowd  surrounds. 

In  tl)e  front  of  this  group  walk  some  of  the  newly-chosen 
Apostles  ;  behind  are  others,  among  whom  there  is  one 
whose  restless  glance  and  saturnine  countenance  accord 
but  little  with  that  look  of  openness  and  innocence  which 
stamps  his  comrades  as  honest  men.  Some  of  those  who 
are  looking  on  whisper  that  he  is  a  certain  Judas  of  Kerioth, 
almost  the  only  follower  of  Jesus  who  is  not  a  Galilfean.  A 
little  further  in  the  rear,  behind  the  remainder  of  the 
Apostles,  are  four  or  five  women,  some  on  foot,  some  on 
mules,  among  whom,  though  they  are  partly  veiled,  there 
are  some  who  recognize  the  once  wealthy  and  dissolute  but 
now  repentant  Mary  of  Magdala;  and  Salome,  the  wife  of 


1G6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

tlie  fisherman  Zabdia;  and  one  of  still  higher  wealth  and 
]msition,  Joanna,  the  wife  of  Chuza,  steward  of  Herod 
Antipas. 

But  He  wlioni  all  eyes  seek  is  in  the  very  center  of  the 
throng;  and  though  at  His  right  is  Peter  of  Bethsaida,  and 
at  His  left  the  more  youthful  figure  of  John,  yet  every 
glance  is  absorbed  by  Him  alone. 

He  is  not  clothed  in  soft  raiment  of  byssus  or  purple, 
like  Herod's  courtiers,  or  the  luxurious  friends  of  the  Pro- 
curator Pilate:  He  does  not  wear  the  white  ephod  of  the 
Levite,  or  the  sweeping  robes  of  the  Scribe.  There  are 
not,  on  His  arm  and  forehead,  the  fephini/i  or  phylacteries, 
which  the  Pharisees  make  so  broad;  and  though  there  is  at 
each  corner  of  His  dress  the  fringe  and  blue  riband  which 
the  Law  enjoins,  it  is  not  worn  of  the  ostentatious  size 
affected  by  those  who  wished  to  parade  the  scrupulousness 
of  their  obedience.  He  is  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  His  time 
and  country.  He  is  not  bareheaded — as  painters  usually 
represent  Him — for  to  move  about  bareheaded  in  the  Syr- 
ian suidight  is  impossible,  but  a  white  keffii/eh,  such  as  is 
worn  to  this  day,  covers  his  hair,  fastened  by  an  agJial  or 
fillet  round  the  top  of  the  head,  and  falling  back  over  the 
neck  and  shoulders.  A  large  blue  outer  robe  or  tallUh, 
pure  and  clean,  but  of  the  simplest  materials,  covers  His 
entire  person,  and  only  shows  occasional  glimpses  of  the 
ketdneth,  a  seamless  woollen  tunic  of  the  ordinary  striped 
texture,  so  common  in  the  East,  which  is  confined  by  a 
girdle  round  the  waist,  and  which  clothes  Him  from  the 
neck  almost  down  to  the  sandalled  feet.  But  the  simple 
garments  do  not  conceal  the  King  ;  and  though  in  His 
bearing  th^re  is  nothing  of  the  self-conscious  haughtiness 
of  the  Rabbi,  yet,  in  its  natural  nobleness  and  unsought 
grace,  it  is  such  as  instantly  suffices  to  check  every  rude 
tongue  and  overawe  every  wicked  thought. 

And  His  aspect  ?  He  is  a  man  of  middle  size,  and  of 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  on  whose  face  the  purity  and 
charm  of  youth  are  mitigled  with  the  thoughtfulness  and 
dignity  of  manhood.  His  hair,  which  legend  has  compai'ed 
to  the  color  of  wine,  is  parted  in  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
head, and  flows  down  over  the  neck.  His  features  are  paler 
and  of  a  more  Hellenic  type  than  the  weather-bronzed  and 
olive-tinted    faces   of   the    hardy  fishermen    who  are  His 


JESUS  AS  HE  LIVED  IN  GALILEE.  107 

Apostles;  but  though  those  features  have  evidently  been 
marred  by  sorrow — though  it  is  manifest  that  those  eyes, 
whose  pui-e  and  indescribable  glance  seems  to  read  the 
very  secrets  of  the  heart,  have  often  glowed  through  tears 
— yet  no  man,  whose  soul  has  not  been  eaten  away  by  sin 
and  selfishness,  can  look  unmoved  and  unawed  on  the 
divine  expression  of  that  calm  and  patient  face.  Yes,  this 
is  He  of  whom  Moses  and  the  Prophets  did  speak — Jesus 
of  Nazareth,  the  Son  of  Mary,  and  the  Son  of  David;  and 
the  Son  of  Man,  and  the  Son  of  God.  Our  eyes  have  seen 
the  King  in  His  beauty.  We  have  belield  His  glory,  the 
glory  as  of  the  only-begotten  of  the  Father,  full  of  grace 
and  truth.  And  having  seen  Him  we  can  well  understand 
how,  while  He  spake,  a  certain  woman  of  the  company 
lifted  up  her  voice  and  said,  *'  Blessed  is  the  womb  that 
bare  Thee,  and  the  paps  that  Tliou  hast  sucked!"  "  Yea, 
rather  blessed,"  He  answered,  in  words  full  of  deep  sweet 
mvstery,  ''are  they  that  hear  the  word  of  God  and 
kept  it." 

One  or  two  facts  and  features  of  His  life  on  earth  may 
here  be  fitly  introduced. 

1.  First,  then,  it  was  a  life  of  poverty.  Some  of  the 
old  Messianic  prophecies,  which  the  Jews  in  general  so 
little  understood,  had  already  indicated  His  voluntary 
submission  to  a  humble  lot.  "  Though  He  were  ricli,  yet 
for  our  sakes  He  became  poor."  He  was  boru  in  the 
cavern-stable,  cradled  in  the  manger.  His  mother  offered 
for  her  purification  the  doves  which  were  the  offering  of 
the  poor.  The  flight  into  Egypt  was  doubtless  accom- 
panied Avith  many  a  hai'dship,  and  when  He  returned  it 
was  to  live  as  a  carpenter,  and  the  son  of  a  carpenter,  in 
the  despised  provincial  village.  It  was  as  a  poor  wander- 
ing teacher,  possessing  nothing,  that  he  traveled  through 
the  land.  With  the  words,  "Blessed  are  the  poor  in 
spirit,"  He  began  His  Sermon  on  the  Mount ;  and  He 
mfide  it  the  chief  sign  of  the  opening  dispensation  that  to 
the  poor  the  Gospel  was  being  preached.  It  was  a  fit 
comment  on  this  His  poverty,  that  after  but  three  short 
years  of  His  public  ministry  He  was  sold  by  one  of  His 
own  Apostles  for  the  thirty  shekels  which  were  the  price 
of  the  meanest  slave. 

5i.  And  the  simplicity  of  His  life   corresponded  to  its 


168  THE  LIFE  OF  CIiniST. 

external  poverty.  Never  in  His  life  did  He  possess  a  roof 
wliich  He  could  call  His  own.  The  humble  abode  at 
Nazareth  was  but  shared  with  numerous  brothers  and 
sisters.  Even  the  house  in  Capernaum  whicli  He  so  often 
visited  was  not  His  own  possession;  it  was  lent  him  by  one 
of  his  discij)les.  There  never  belonged  to  Him  one  foot's- 
breadth  of  the  earth  which  He  came  to  save.  We  never 
hear  that  any  of  the  beggars,  who  in  every  Eastern 
country  are  so  numerous  and  so  importunate,  asked  Him 
for  alms.  Had  they  done  so  He  might  have  answered 
with  Peter,  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such  as  I 
have  that  I  give  thee."  His  food  was  of  the  plainest.  He 
was  ready,  indeed,  wlien  invited,  to  join  in  the  innocent 
social  liappiness  of  Simon's,  or  Levi's,  or  Martha's,  or  the 
bridegroom  of  Cana's  feast;  but  His  ordinary  food  was  as 
simple  as  that  of  the  humblest  peasant — bread  of  the 
coarsest  quality,  fish  caught  in  the  lake  and  broiled  in 
embers  on  the  shore,  and  sometimes  a  piece  of  honeycomb, 
j^robably  of  tiie  wild  honey  which  was  tlien  found  abund- 
antly in  Palestine.  Small  indeed  was  the  gossamer  thread 
of  semblance  on  which  his  enemies  could  support  the 
weight  of  their  outrageous  cakimny,  "  Behold  a  glutton 
and  a  wine-bibber."  And  yet  Jesus,  though  poor,  was 
not  a  pauper.  He  did  not  for  one  moment  countenance 
(as  Sakya  Mouni  did)  the  life  of  beggary,  or  say  one  word 
which  could  be  perverted  into  a  recommendation  of  that 
degrading  squalor  whicli  some  religious  teachers  have 
represented  as  the  perfection  of  ]Mety.  He  never  received 
an  alms  from  the  fanicJiiii  or  Icuppa,  but  He  and  the  little 
company  of  His  followers  lived  on  their  lawful  possessions 
or  tlie  produce  of  their  own  industry,  and  even  had  a  bag 
or  cash-box  of  their  own,  both  for  their  own  use  and  for 
their  charities  to  others.  From  this  they  provided  the 
simple  necessaries  of  the  Paschal  feast,  and  distributed 
what  they  could  to  the  poor;  only  Christ  does  not  Himself 
seem  to  have  given  money  to  the  poor,  because  He  gave 
them  richer  and  nobler  gifts  than  could  be  even  compared 
with  gold  or  silver.  Yet  even  the  little  money  which  they 
wanted  was  not  always  forthcoming,  and  when  the 
collectors  of  the  trivial  sum  demanded  from  the  very 
jioorest  for  the  service  of  the  Temple  came  to  Peter  for 
the  didrachma  which  was  alone  required,  neither  he  nor 


JESUS  AS  HE  LIVED  IN  GALILEE.  169 

his  Master  had  the  sum  at  hand.     The  Sou  of  Man  had 
no  earthly  possession  besides  the  clothes  He  wore. 

3.  And  it  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  life  of  toil — of  toil 
from  boyhood  upward,  in  the  sliop  of  the  carpenter,  to 
aid  in  maintaining  Himself  and  His  family  by  honest  and 
noble  labor ;  of  toil  afterward  to  save  the  world.  We 
have  seen  that  "He  went  about  doing  good,"  and  that 
this,  which  is  the  epitome  of  His  public  life,  constitutes 
also  its  sublimest  originality.  The  insight  which  we  have 
gained  already,  and  shall  gain  still  further,  into  the 
manner  in  which  His  days  were  spent,  shows  us  how  over- 
whelming an  amount  of  ever-active  benevolence  was 
crowded  into  the  brief  compass  of  the  hours  of  light.  At 
any  moment  He  was  at  the  service  of  any  call,  whether  it 
came  from  an  inquirer  who  longed  to  be  taught,  or  from  a 
sufferer  who  had  faith  to  be  healed.  Teaching,  preaching, 
traveling,  doing  works  of  mercy,  bearing  patiently  with 
the  fretful  impatience  of  the  stiff-necked  and  the  ignorant, 
enduring  without  a  murmur  the  incessant  and  selfish 
pressure  of  the  multitude— work  like  this  so  absorbed  His 
time  and  energy  than  we  are  told,  more  than  once,  tliat  so 
many  were  coming  and  going  as  to  leave  no  leisure  even  to 
eat.  For  Himself  He  seemed  to  claim  no  rest  except  the 
quiet  hours  of  night  and  silence,  when  He  retired  so  often 
to  pray  to  His  heavenly  Father,  amid  the  mountain 
solitudes  which  He  loved  so  well. 

4.  And  it  was  a  life  of  health.  Among  its  many 
sorrows  and  trials,  sickness  alone  was  absent.  We  hear  of 
His  healing  multitudes  of  the  sick — we  never  hear  that  He 
was  sick  Himself.  It  is  true  that  ''the  golden  Passioiuil 
of  the  Book  of  Isaiah,"  says  of  Him  :  "  Surely  He  hath 
borne  our  griefs,  and  carried  our  sorrows ;  yet  we  did 
esteem  Him  stricken,  smitten  of  God,  and  afflicted.  But 
He  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions  ;  He  was  bruised 
for  our  iniquities;  the  chastisement  of  our  peace  was  upon 
Him,  and  with  His  stripes  we  are  healed  ;"  but  the  best 
explanation  of  that  passage  has  been  already  supplied  from 
St.  Matthew,  that  He  suffered  with  those  whom  He  saw 
suffer.  He  was  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmities; 
His  divine  sympathy  made  those  sufferings  His  own. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  story  of  His  life  and  death  show  ex- 
ceptioiuil  powers  of  physical  endurance.     No  one  who  was 


170  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

not  endowed  with  perfect  liealth  could  have  stood  out 
against  the  incessant  and  wearing  demands  of  such  daily 
life  as  the  Gospels  describe.  Above  all,  he  seems  to  have 
possessed  that  blessing  of  ready  sleep  which  is  the  best 
natural  antidote  to  fatigue,  and  the  best  influence  to  calm 
the  over-wearied  mind,  and  "  knit  up  the  ravelled  sleeve 
of  care."  Even  on  the  wave-lashed  deck  of  the  little  fish- 
ing-boat as  it  was  tossed  on  the  stormy  sea.  He  could  sleep, 
with  no  better  bed  or  pillow  than  tlie  hard  leather-covered 
boss  that  served  as  the  steersman's  cushion.  And  often  in 
tliose  nights  spent  under  the  starry  sky,  in  the  wilderness, 
and  on  the  mountain-top,  lie  could  have  had  no  softer 
resting-place  th.an  the  grassy  turf,  no  other  covering  than 
the  tallUli,  or  perhaps  some  striped  abha,  such  as  often 
foi-ms  the  sole  bed  of  the  Arab  at  the  present  day.  And 
we  shall  see  in  the  last  sad  scene  how  the  same  strength  of 
constitution  and  endurance,  even  after  all  that  He  had 
undergone,  enabled  Him  to  hold  out — after  a  sleepless 
night  and  a  most  exhausting  day — under  fifteen  hours  of 
trial  and  torture  and  the  long-protracted  agony  of  a  bitter 
death. 

5.  And,  once  more,  it  must  have  been  a  life  of  sorrow; 
for  He  is  rightly  called  the  "Man  of  Sorrows."  And  yet 
we  think  that  there  is  a  possibility  of  error  here.  The 
terms  "sorrow "and  '"joy"  are  very  relative,  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  if  there  was  crushing  sorrow — the  sorrow  of 
sympathy  with  those  who  suffered,  the  sorrow  of  rejection 
by  those  whom  He  loved,  the  sorrow  of  being  hated  by 
those  whom  He  came  to  save,  the  sorrows  of  One  on  whom 
were  laid  the  iniquities  of  the  world,  the  sorrows  of  the 
last  long  agony  upon  the  cross,  when  it  seemed  as  if  even 
His  Father  had  forsaken  Him — yet  assuredly  also  there 
was  an  abounding  joy.  For  the  worst  of  all  sorrows,  the 
most  maddening  of  all  miseries — which  is  the  conscious- 
ness of  alienation  from  God,  the  sense  of  shame  and  guilt 
and  inward  degradation,  the  frenzy  of  self-loathing  by 
which,  as  by  a  scourge  of  fire,  the  abandoned  soul  is  driven 
to  an  incurable  despair — tliat  was  absent,  not  only  in  its 
extreme  forms,  but  even  in  the  faintest  of  its  most  transient 
assoilments  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  joy  of  an  un- 
sullied conscience,  the  joy  of  a  stainless  life,  the  joy  of  a 
poul  absolutely  and  infinitely  removed  from  every  shadow 


A  GREAT  DA  Y  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS.         171 

of  baseuess  aud  every  fleck  of  guilt,  the  joy  of  an  existence 
Avholly  devoted  to  the  service  of  God  and  the  love  of  man 
— this  was  ever  present  to  Him  in  its  fullest  influences.  It 
is  hardly  what  the  world  calls  joy;  it  was  not  the  merri- 
ment of  the  frivolous,  like  the  transient  flickering  of  April 
sunshine  upon  the  shallow  stream;  it  was  not  the  laughter 
of  fools,  which  is  as  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot — 
of  this  kind  of  joy,  life  has  but  little  for  a  man  who  feels 
all  that  life  truly  means.  But,  as  is  said  by  the  great  Latin 
Father,  "  Crede  nihi  res  severa  est  verum  gaudium,"  and 
of  that  deep  well-spring  of  life  which  lies  in  the  heart  of 
things  noble,  and  pure,  and  permanent,  and  true,  even  the 
Man  of  Sorrows  could  drink  large  draughts.  And  though 
we  are  never  told  that  He  laughed,  while  we  are  told  that 
once  He  wept,  and  that  once  He  sighed,  and  that  more 
than  once  He  was  troubled;  yet  He  wlio  threw  no  shadow 
of  discountenance  on  social  meetings  and  innocent  festivity, 
could  not  have  been  without  that  inward  happiness  which 
sometimes  shone  even  upon  His  countenance,  and  which 
we  often  trace  in  the  tender  and  almost  playful  irony  of 
His  words.  "  In  that  hour,"  we  are  told  of  one  occasion 
in  His  life,  "Jesus  rejoiced" — or,  as  it  should  rather  he, 
exulted — ''in  spirit."  Can  we  believe  that  this  rejoicing 
took  place  once  alone? 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

A   GREAT    DAY    IN   THE    LIFE    OF   JESUS. 

The  sequence  of  events  in  the  narrative  on  which  we 
are  now  about  to  enter  is  nearly  the  same  in  the  first  three 
Gospels.  Without  neglecting  any  clear  indications  given 
by  the  other  Evangelists,  we  shall,  in  this  part  of  the  life 
of  Jesus,  mainly  follow  the  chronological  guidance  of  St. 
Luke.  The  order  of  St.  Matthew  a'nd  St.  Mark  appears 
to  be  much  guided  by  subjective  considerations.  Events 
in  their  Gospels  are  sometimes  grouped  together  by  their 
moral  or  religious  bearings.  St.  Luke,  as  is  evident,  pays 
more  attention  to  the  natural  sequence,  although  he  oc- 
casionally allows  a  unity  of  subject  to  supersede  in  his 
arrangement  the  order  of  time, 


172  THE  LIFE  OF  CUEIST. 

Immediately  after  the  niissioiiary  journey  which  we  have 
described,  St.  Luke  adds  that  when  Jesus  saw  Himself 
surrounded  by  a  great  multitude  out  of  every  city,  He 
spake  by  a  parable.  We  learn  from  the  two  other  Evan- 
gelists the  interesting  circumstance  that  this  was  the  first 
occasion  on  which  He  taught  in  parables,  and  that  they 
were  spoken  to  the  multitude  who  lined  the  shore  while 
our  Lord  sat  in  His  favorite  pulpit,  the  boat  which  was 
kept  for  Him  on  the  Lake. 

We  might  infer  from  St.  Mark  that  this  teaching  was 
delivered  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  he  healed 
the  paralytic,  but  the  inference  is  too  precarious  to  be 
relied  on.  All  that  we  can  see  is  that  this  new  form  of 
teaching  waa  felt  to  be  necessary  in  consequence  of  the 
state  of  mind  which  had  been  produced  in  some,  at  least, 
of  the  hearers  among  the  multitude.  The  one  emphatic 
work  ''hearken!"  with  which  He  prefaced  his  address 
prepared  them  for  something  unusual  and  memorable  in 
Avhat  He  was  going  to  say. 

The  great  mass  of  hearers  must  now  have  been  aware  of 
the  general  features  in  the  new  Gospel  which  Jesus 
preached.  Some  self-examination,  some  earnest,  careful 
thought  of  their  own  was  now  requisite,  if  they  were 
indeed  sincere  in  their  desire  to  profit  by  his  words. 
"  Take  heed  how  ye  hear"  was  the  great  lesson  which  He 
would  now  imj^ress.  He  would  warn  them  against  the 
otiose  attention  of  curiosity  or  mere  intellectual  interest, 
and  would  fix  upon  their  minds  a  sense  of  their  moral  re- 
sponsibility for  the  effects  produced  by  what  they  heard. 
He  would  teach  them  in  such  a  way  that  the  extent  of 
each  hearer's  profit  should  depend  largely  ujion  his  own 
faithfulness. 

And,  therefore,  to  show  them  that  the  only  true  fruit 
of  good  teaching  is  holiness  of  life,  and  that  there  were 
many  dangers  which  might  prevent  its  growth,  He  told 
them  His  first  parable,  the  Parable  of  the  Sower.  The 
imagery  of  it  was  derived,  as  usual,  from  the  objects  im- 
mediately before  his  eyes  —  the  sown  fields  of  Gennesa^ 
rath;  the  springing  corn  in  them;  the  hard-trodden  paths 
which  ran  through  them,  on  which  no  corn  could  grow; 
the  innumerable  birds  which  fluttered  over  them  i-eady  to 
feed  upon  the  grain;  the  weak  and  withering  struggle  for 


A  GUEAT  DA  Y  iX  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS.  173 

life  on  the  stony  places;  the  tangling  growth  of  luxuriant 
thistles  in  neglected  corners;  the  deep  loam  of  the  general 
soil,  on  which  already  the  golden  ears  stood  thick  and 
strong,  giving  promise  of  a  sixty  and  hundredfold  return 
as  they  rippled  under  the  balmy  wind.  To  ns,  who  from 
infancy  have  read  the  parable  side  by  side  with  Christ's 
own  interpretation  of  it,  the  meaning  is  singularly  clear 
and  plain,  and  we  see  in  it  the  liveliest  images  of  the 
danger  incurred  by  the  cold  and  indifferent,  by  the  im- 
pulsive and  shallow,  by  the  worldly  and  ambitious,  by 
the  preoccupied  and  the  luxurious,  as  they  listen  to  the 
Word  of  God.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  those  who  heard 
it.  Even  the  disciples  failed  to  catch  its  full  significance, 
although  they  reserved  their  request  for  an  explanation 
till  they  and  their  Master  should  be  alone.  It  is  clear  that 
parables  like  this,  so  luminous  to  ns,  but  so  difficult  to 
these  simple  listeners,  suggested  thoughts  which  to  them 
were  wholly  unfamiliar. 

It  seems  clear  that  our  Lord  did  not  on  this  occasion  de- 
liver all  of  those  seven  parables — the  parable  of  the  tares  of 
the  field,  of  the  grain  of  mustard-seed,  of  the  leaven,  of 
the  hid  treasure,  of  the  pearl  and  of  the  net — which,  from 
a  certain  resemblance  in  their  subjects  and  consecutive- 
ness  in  their  teaching,  are  here  grouped  together  by  Ht. 
Matthew.  Seven  parables  delivered  at  once,  and  delivered 
without  interpretation,  to  a  promiscuous  multitude  which 
He  was  for  the  first  time  addressing  in  this  form  of  teach- 
ing, would  have  only  tended  to  bewilder  and  to  distract. 
Indeed,  the  expression  of  St.  Mark — "as  they  were  able 
to  hear  it" — seems  distinctly  to  imply  a  gradual  aiul  non- 
continuous  course  of  teaching,  which  would  have  lost  its 
value  if  it  had  given  to  the  listeners  more  than  they  were 
able  to  remember  and  to  understand.  We  may  rather  con- 
clude, from  a  comparison  of  St.  Mark  and  St.  Luke,  that 
the  teaching  of  this  particular  afternoon  contained  no 
other  parables,  except  perhaps  the  simple  and  closely 
analogous  ones  of  the  grain  of  mustard-seed,  and  of  the 
blade,  the  ear,  and  the  full  corn  in  the  ear,  which  might 
serve  to  encourage  into  patience  those  who  were  expecting 
too  rapid  a  revelation  of  the  kingdom  of  God  in  their  own 
lives  and  in  the  world;  and  perhaps,  with  these,  the  simili- 
tude of  the  candle  to  warn  them  not  to  stifle  the  light 


174  Tim  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

they  li;id  voceivcd,  but  to  remember  that  Great  Light 
wliich  should  one  day  reveal  all  things,  and  so  to  let  their 
light  shine  as  to  illuminate  both  their  own  paths  in  life, 
and  to  shed  radiance  on  the  souls  of  all  around. 

A  method  of  instruction  so  rare,  so  stimulating,  so  full 
of  interest — a  method  which,  in  its  unapproachable  beauty 
and  finish,  stands  unrivaled  in  the  annals  of  human  speech 
— would  doubtless  tend  to  increase  beyond  measure  the 
crowds  that  thronged  to  listen.  And  through  the  sultry 
afternoon  He  continued  to  teach  them,  barely  succeeding 
in  dismissing  them  when  the  evening  was  come.  A  sense 
of  complete  weariness  and  deep  unspeakable  longing  for 
repose,  and  solitude,  and  sleep,  seems  then  to  have  come 
over  our  Lord's  spirit.  Possibly  the  desire  for  rest  and 
quiet  may  have  been  accelerated  by  one  more  ill-judged 
endeavor  of  His  mother  and  His  brethern  to  assert  a  claim 
upon  his  actions.  They  had  not  indeed  been  able  "  to 
come  at  Him  for  the  press,"  but  their  attempt  to  do  so 
may  have  been  one  more  reason  for  a  desire  to  get  away, 
and  be  free  for  a  time  from  this  incessant  publicity,  from 
these  irreverent  interferences.  At  any  rate,  one  little 
touch,  preserved  for  us  as  usual  by  the  graphic  pen  of  the 
Evangelist  St.  Mark,  shows  that  there  was  a  certain  eager- 
ness and  urgency  in  his  departure,  as  though  in  his  weari- 
ness, and  in  that  oppression  of  mind  which  results  from 
the  Avearing  contact  with  numbers,  He  could  not  return  to 
Capernaum,  but  suddenly  determined  on  a  change  of  plan. 
After  dismissing  the  crowd,  the  disciples  took  him,  "as  He 
was,"  in  the  boat,  no  time  being  left,  in  the  urgency  of  his 
spirit,  for  preparation  of  any  kind.  He  yearned  for  the 
quiet  and  deserted  loneliness  of  the  eastern  shore.  The  west- 
ern shore  also  is  lonely  now,  and  the  traveler  will  meet  no 
human  being  there  but  a  few  careworn  Fellahin,  or  a  Jew 
from  Tiberias,  or  some  Arab  fishermen,  or  an  armed  and 
mounted  Sheykh  of  some  tribe  of  Bedawin.  But  the  east- 
ern shore  is  loneliness  itself  ;  not  a  tree,  not  a  village,  not 
a  human  being,  not  a  single  habitation  is  visible  ;  nothing 
but  the  low  range  of  hills,  scarred  with  rocky  fissures,  and 
sweeping  down  to  a  narrow  and  barren  strip  which  forms 
the  margin  of  the  Lake.  In  our  Lord's  time  the  contrast 
of  this  thinly  inhabited  region  with  the  busy  and  populous 
towns  that  lav  close  together  on  the  Plain  of  Gennesareth 


A  GREAT  DA  Y  TX  TlIK  LIFE  OF  JESUS  175 

must  have  been  very  striking  ;  and  though  the  scattered 
popuhitiou  of  Perifia  was  partly  Ueutile,  we  shall  find  him 
not  unfrequently  seeking  to  recover  the  tone  and  calm  ot 
His  burdened  soul  by  putting  those  six  miles  of  water  be- 
tween himself  and  the  crowds  He  taught. 

But  before  the  boat  could  be  pushed  off  another  remark- 
able interruption  occurred.  Three  of  His  listeners  in  suc- 
cession— struck  periiaps  by  the  depth  and  power  of  this 
His  new  method'^of  teaching,  dazzled  too  by  this  zenith  of 
His  popularity — desired  or  fancied  that  they  desired  to  at- 
tach themselves  to' him  as  permanent  disciples.  The  first 
was  a  Scribe,  who,  thinking  no  doubt  that  his  official  rank 
■would  make  him  a  most  acceptable  disciple,  exclaimed 
with  confident  asservation,  "  Lord,  I  will  follow  Thee 
whithersoever  Thou  goest."  But  in  spite  of  the  man's 
high  position,  in  spite  of  his  glowing  promises.  He  who 
cared  less  than  nothing  for  lip-service,  and  who  preferred 
"the  modesty  of  fearful  duty"  to  the  "rattling  tongue  of 
audacious  eloquence,"  coldly  checked  His  would-be  fol- 
lower. He  who  had  called  the  hated  publican  gave  no  en- 
couragement to  the  reputable  Scribe.  He  did  not  reject 
the  proffered  service,  but  neither  did  he  accept  it.  Per- 
haps "in  the  man's  flaring  enthusiasm  He  saw  the  smoke 
of  egotistical  self-deceit."  He  pointed  out  that  His  service 
was  not  one  of  wealth,  or  honor,  or  delight  ;  not  one  in 
which  any  could  hope  for  earthly  gain.  "  The  foxes,"  He 
said,  "  have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  resting- 
places,  but  the  Son  of  Man  hath  not  Avhere  to  lay  His 
head." 

The  second  was  already  a  partial  disciple,  but  wished  to 
become  an  entire  follower,  with  the  reservation  that  he 
might  first  be  permitted  to  bury  his  father.  "  Follow 
me!"  was  the  thrilling  answer,  "and  let  the  dead  bury 
their  dead  ;"  that  is,  leave  the  world  and  the  things  of  the 
world  to  mind  themselves.  He  who  would  follow  Christ 
must  in  comparison  hate  even  father  and  mother.  He 
must  leave  the  spiritually  dead  to  attend  to  their  physically 
dead. 

The  answer  to  the  third  aspirant  was  not  dissimilar.  He 
too  pleaded  for  delay — wished  not  to  join  Christ  immedi- 
ately in  His  voyage,' but  first  of  all  to  bid  farewell  to  his 
friends  at  home.     "  No  man,"  was  the  reply — which  has 


1 :6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

become  proverbial  for  all  time — "No  man  having  pnt 
liis  hand  to  the  plow,  and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the  king- 
dom of  Heaven."  To  use  the  fine  image  of  St.  Augustine, 
"  the  east  was  calling  liim,  he  must  turn  his  thoughts  from 
the  fading  west."  it  was  in  this  spirit  that  the  loving 
souls  of  St.  Thomas  of  Aquino,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  St. 
Francis  Xavier,  and  so  many  more  of  the  great  saints  in 
the  Churcli's  history  consoled  and  fortified  themselves, 
when  forced  to  resign  every  family  affection,  and  for 
Christ's  sake  to  abandon  every  earthly  tie. 

So,  then,  at  last,  these  fresh  delays  were  over,  and  the 
little  vessel  could  spread  her  sails  for  the  voyage.  Yet 
even  now  Jesus  was,  as  it  were,  pursued  by  followers,  for 
as  St.  Mark  again  tells  us,  "  other  little  ships  were  with 
Him."  But  they  in  all  probability — since  we  are  not  told 
of  their  reaching  the  other  shore — were  soon  scattered  or 
frightened  back  by  the  signs  of  a  gathering  storm.  At 
any  rate,  in  His  own  boat,  and  among  his  own  trusted  dis- 
ciples, Jesus  could  rest  nndisturbed,  and  long  before  they 
were  far  from  shore,  had  lain  His  weai'y  head  on  the 
leather  cushion  of  the  steersman,  and  was  sleeping  the 
deep  sleep  of  the  worn  and  weary — the  calm  sleep  of  those 
who  are  at  peace  with  God. 

Even  that  sleep,  so  sorely  needed,  was  destined  to  speedy 
and  violent  disturbance.  One  of  the  fierce  storms  peculiar 
to  that  deep  hollow  in  the  earth's  surface,  swept  down  with 
sudden  fury  on  the  little  ijiland  sea.  With  scarcely  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  the  air  was  filled  with  whirlwind  and  the 
sea  buflleted  into  tempest.  Tiie  danger  was  extreme.  The 
boat  was  again  and  again  buried  amid  the  foam  of  the 
breakers  which  burst  over  it ;  yet  though  they  must  have 
covered  Him  with  their  dasliing  spray  as  He  lay  on  the 
open  deck  at  the  stern,  He  was  calmly  sleeping  on — undis- 
turbed, so  deep  was  his  fatigue,  by  the  tempestuous  dark- 
ness— and  as  yet  no  one  ventured  to  awake  Him.  But 
now  the  billows  were  actually  breaking  into  the  boat  itself, 
which  was  beginning  to  be  filled  and  to  sink.  Then,  with 
sudden  and  vehement  cries  of  excitement  and  terror,  the 
disciples  woke  Him.  "Lord  !  Master  !  Master  !  save  !  we 
perish!"  Such  were  the  wild  sounds  which,  mingled  with 
the  howling  of  the  winds  and  the  dash  of  the  mastering 
waves,  broke  confusedly  upon  his  half-awakened  ear.     It  is 


A  GREAT  DA  7  m  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS.  177 

such  crimes  as  these — crises  of  snddeu  unexpected  terror, 
met  without  a  moment  of  preparation,  which  test  a  man, 
what  spirit  he  is  of — which  show  not  only  his  nerve,  but 
the  grandeur  and  purity  of  his  whole  nature.  The  hurri- 
cane which  shook  the  tried  courage  and  baffled  the  utmost 
skill  of  the  hardy  fishermen,  did  not  ruffle  for  one  instant 
the  deep  inward  serenity  of  the  Son  of  Man.  Without  one 
sign  of  confusion,  without  one  tremor  of  alarm,  Jesus 
simply  raised  Himself  on  His  elbow  from  the  dripping 
stern  of  the  laboring  and  half-sinking  vessel,  and,  without 
further  movement,  stilled  the  tempest  of  their  souls  by 
the  quiet  words,  "  Why  so  cowardly,  0  ye  of  little  faith  ?  " 
And  then  rising  up,  standing  in  all  the  calm  of  a  natural 
majesty  on  the  lofty  stern,  while  the  hurricane  tossed,  for 
a  moment  only.  His  fluttering  garments  and  streaming 
hair,  He  gazed  forth  into  the  darkness,  and  His  voice  was 
heard  amid  the  roaring  of  the  troubled  elements,  saying, 
"Peace,  be  still!"  And  instantly  the  wind  dropped,  and 
there  was  a  great  calm.  And  as  they  watched  the  starlight 
reflected  on  the  nowunrippled  water,  not  the  disciples  only 
but  even  the  sailors  whispered  to  one  another,  *'What 
manner  of  man  is  this  ?" 

This  is  a  stupendous  miracle,  one  of  those  which  test 
whether  we  indeed  believe  in  the  credibility  of  the  miracu- 
lous or  not ;  one  of  those  miracles  of  power  which  cannot, 
like  many  of  the  miracles  of  healing,  be  explained  away  by 
existing  laws.  It  is  not  my  object  in  this  book  to  convince 
the  unbeliever,  or  hold  controversy  with  the  doubter. 
Something  of  what  I  had  to  say  on  this  subject  I  have  done 
my  little  best  to  say  in  my  Lectures  on  The  Witness  of 
History  to  Christ ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  a  few  words  may  here 
be  pardoned.  Some,  and  they  neither  irreverent  nor  un- 
faithful men,  have  asked  whether  the  reality  may  not 
have  been  somewhat  different?  whether  we  may  not  under- 
stand this  narrative  in  a  sense  like  that  in  which  we  should 
understand  it  if  we  found  it  in  the  reasonably-attested 
legend  of  some  mediaeval  saint — a  St.  Nicholas  or  a  St. 
Brandan  ?  whether  we  may  not  suppose  that  the  fact 
which  underlies  the  narrative  was  in  reality  not  a  miracu- 
lous exercise  of  power  over  those  elements  which  are  most 
beyond  the  reach  of  man,  but  that  Christ's  calm  communi- 
cated itself  by  immediate  and  subtle  influence  to  His  terri- 


178  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

fied  companions,  and  that  the  hurricane,  from  natural 
causes,  sank  as  rapidly  as  it  had  arisen  ?  I  reply,  that  if 
this  were  tiie  only  miracle  in  the  life  of  Christ;  if  the 
Gospels  were  indeed  the  loose,  exaggerated,  inaccurate, 
credulous  narratives  which  such  an  interpretation  would 
suppose  ;  if  there  were  something  antecedently  incredible 
in  the  supernatural;  if  there  were  in  the  spiritual  world  no 
transcendant  facts  which  lie  far  beyond  the  comprehension 
of  those  who  would  bid  us  see  nothing  in  tlie  universe  but 
the  action  of  material  laws  ;  if  there  were  no  providences 
of  God  during  these  nineteen  centuries  to  attest  the  work 
and  the  divinity  of  Christ — then  indeed  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  in  sucli  an  interpretation.  But  if  we  believe 
that  God  rules  ;  if  we  believe  that  Christ  rose  ;  if  we  have 
reason  to  hold,  among  the  deepest  convictions  of  our  being, 
the  certainty  that  God  has  not  delegated  his  sovereignty  or 
His  providence  to  the  final,  unintelligent,  pitiless,  inevit- 
able working  of  material  forces;  if  we  see  on  every  page  of 
the  Evangelists  the  quiet  simplicity  of  truthful  and  faith- 
ful witnesses;  if  we  see  in  every  year  of  succeeding  history, 
and  in  every  experience  of  individual  life,  a  confirmation 
of  the  testimony  which  they  delivered — then  we  shall 
neither  clutch  at  rationalistic  interpretations,  nor  be  much 
troubled  if  others  adopt  them.  He  who  believes,  he  who 
knows,  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  in  wliat  other  men  may 
regard  as  the  inevitable  certainties  or  blindly-directed  acci- 
dents of  life — lie  who  has  felt  how  the  voice  of  a  Saviour, 
heard  across  the  long  generations,  can  calm  wilder  storms 
than  ever  buffeted  into  fury  tlie  bosom  of  the  inland  lake 
— he  who  sees  in  the  person  of  his  Kedeemer  a  fact  more 
stupendous  and  more  majestic  than  all  those  observed 
sequences  which  men  endow  with  an  imaginary  omnipo- 
tence, and  worship  under  the  name  of  Law — to  him,  at 
least,  there  will  be  neither  difficulty  nor  hesitation  in  sup- 
posing that  Christ,  on  board  that  half-wrecked  fishing- 
boat,  did  utter  His  mandate,  and  that  the  wind  and  the 
sea  obeyed  ;  that  His  word  was  indeed  more  potent  among 
the  cosmic  forces  than  miles  of  agitated  water  or  leagues 
of  rushing  air. 

Not  even  on  the  further  shore  was  Jesus  to  find  peace 
or  rest.  On  the  contrary,  no  sooner  had  He  reached  that 
part  of  Perica  which  is  called  by  St,    Matthew  the  "couu- 


A  ORE  A  T  DAT  IN  TUE  LIFE  OF  JESUS.  170 

try  of  the  Gergesenes,''  than  He  was  met  by  an  exhibition 
of  human  fury,  and  madness,  and  degradation,  even  more 
terrible  and  startling  than  the  rage  of  the  troubled  sea. 
Barely  had  He  landed  when,  from  among  the  rocky  cavern- 
tombs  of  the  Wady  Semalch,  there  burst  into  his  presence 
a  man  troubled  with  the  most  exaggerated  form  of  that 
raging  madness  which  was  universally  attributed  to  demo- 
niacal possession.  Amid  all  tlie  boasted  civilization  of  an- 
tiquity, there  existed  no  hospitals,  no  penitentiaries,  no 
asylums  ;  and  unfortunates  of  this  class,  being  too  danger- 
ous and  desperate  for  human  intercourse,  could  only  be 
driven  forth  from  among  their  fellow-men,  and  restrained 
from  mischief  by  measures  at  once  inadequate  and  cruel. 
Under  such  circumstances  they  could,  if  irreclaimable, 
only  take  refuge  in  those  holes  along  the  rocky  hill-sides 
which  abound  in  Palestine,  and  which  were  used  by  the 
Jews  as  tombs.  It  is  clear  that  the  foul  and  polluted  na- 
ture of  such  dwelling-places,  with  all  their  associations  of 
ghastliness  and  terror,  would  tend  to  aggravate  the  nature 
of  the  malady;  and  this  man,  who  had  long  been  afflicted, 
was  beyond  even  the  possibility  of  control.  Attempts  had 
been  made  to  bind  him,  but  in  the  paroxysms  of  his  mania 
he  had  exerted  that  apparently  supernatural  strength 
which  is  often  noticed  in  such  forms  of  mental  excitement 
and  had  always  succeeded  in  rending  off  his  fetters  and 
twisting  away  or  shattering  his  chains  ;  and  now  he  had 
been  abandoned  to  the  lonely  hills  and  unclean  solitudes 
which,  night  and  day,  rang  with  his  yells  as  he  wandered 
among  them,  dangerous  to  himself  and  to  others,  raving, 
and  gashing  himself  with  stones. 

It  was  the  frightful  figure  of  this  naked  and  homicidal 
maniac  that  burst  upon  our  Lord  almost  as  soon  as  He  had 
landed  at  early  dawn  ;  and  pei'haps  another  demoniac, 
who  was  not  a  Gadarene,  and  who  was  less  grievously 
afflicted,  may  have  hovered  about  at  no  great  distance, 
although,  beyond  this  allusion  to  his  presence,  he  plays 
no  part  in  the  narrative.  The  pi-esence,  the  look,  the 
voice  of  Christ,  even  before  He  addressed  tiiese  sufferers, 
seems  always  to  have  calmed  and  overawed  them,  and  this 
demoniac  of  Gergesa  was  no  exception.  Instead  of  falling 
upon  the  disciples,  he  ran  to  Jesus  from  a  distance,  and 
fell  down  before  Him  in  an  attitude  of  worship.    Mingling 


180  THE  LIFE  OF  CJIIUST. 

his  own  perturbed  imlividiuility  witli  that  of  the  multitude 
of  uncleuu  spirits  which  he  believed  to  be  in  possession  of 
His  soul,  he  entreated  the  Lord,  in  loud  and  terrified  ac- 
cents, not  to  torment  him  before  the  time. 

It  is  well  known  that  to  recall  a  maniac's  attention  to 
his  name,  to  awake  his  memories,  to  touch  his  sympathies 
by  past  association,  often  produces  a  lucid  interval,  and 
perhaps  this  may  have  been  the  reason  why  Jesus  said  to 
the  man,  "  What  is  thy  name  ?"  But  this  question  only 
receives  the  wild  answer,  "  My  name  is  Legion,  for  we  are 
many."  The  man  had,  as  it  were,  lost  his  own  name;  it 
was  absorbed  in  the  hideous  tyranny  of  that  multitude  of 
demons  under  whose  influence  his  own  personality  was  de- 
stroyed. The  presence  of  Roman  armies  in  Palestine  had 
rendered  him  familiar  with  that  title  of  multitude,  and  as 
though  six  thousand  evil  spirits  were  in  him  he  answers 
by  the  Latin  word  which  had  now  become  so  familiar  to 
every  Jew.  And  still  agitated  by  his  own  perturbed  fan- 
cies, he  entreats,  as  though  the  thousands  of  demons  were 
speaking  by  his  mouth,  that  they  might  not  be  driven  into 
the  abyss,  but  be  suffered  to  take  refuge  in  the  swine. 

The  narrative  which  follows  is  to  us  difficult  of  com- 
prehension, and  one  which,  however  literally  accepted, 
touches  upon  regions  so  wholly  mysterious  and  unknown 
that  we  have  no  clew  to  its  real  significance,  and  can  gain 
nothing  by  speculating  upon  it.  The  narrative  in  St.  Luke 
runs  as  follows: 

"  And  there  was  an  herd  of  many  swine  feeding  upon 
the  mountain  ;  and  they  besought  Him  that  He  would 
suffer  them  to  enter  into  them.  And  He  suffered  them. 
Then  went  the  devils  out  of  the  man,  and  entered  into  the 
swine;  and  the  herd  ran  violently  down  a  steep  place  into 
the  lake,  and  were  choked." 

That  the  demoniac  was  healed — that  in  the  terrible 
final  paroxysm  which  usually  accompanied  the  deliverance 
from  this  strange  and  awful  malady,  a  herd  of  swine  was 
in  some  way  affected  with  such  wild  terror  as  to  rush  head- 
long in  large  numbers  over  a  steep  hill-side  into  the 
waters  of  the  lake  —  and  that,  in  the  minds  of  all 
who  were  present,  including  that  of  the  sufferer 
liimself,  this  precipitate  rushing  of  the  swine  was  con- 
nected with  the  man's  release  from  his  demoniac  thraldom — 


A  GREAT  DA  Y  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS.  181 

thus  much  is  clear.  And  indeed,  so  far,  there  is  no 
difficulty  whatever.  Any  one  who  believes  in  the  Gospels, 
and  believes  that  the  Son  of  God  did  work  on  earth  deeds 
which  far  surpass  mere  human  power,  must  believe  that 
among  the  most  frequent  of  His  cures  were  those  of  the 
distressing  forms  of  mental  and  nervous  malady  which  we 
ascribe  to  purely  natural  causes,  but  which  the  ancient 
Jews,  like  all  Orientals,  attribute  to  direct  supernatural 
agency.  And  knowing  to  how  singular  an  extent  the 
mental  impressions  of  man  affect  by  some  unknown  electric 
influence  the  lower  aniuials — knowing,  for  instance,  that 
man's  cowardice  and  exultation,  and  even  his  superstitious 
terrors,  do  communicate  themselves  to  the  dog  which  ac- 
companies him,  or  the  horse  on  which  he  rides — there  can 
be  little  or  no  difficulty  in  understanding  that  the  shrieks 
and  gesticulations  of  a  powerful  lunatic  might  strike  un- 
controllable terror  into  a  herd  of  swine.  We  know  further 
that  the  spasm  of  deliverance  was  often  attended  with 
fearful  convulsions,  sometimes  perhaps  with  an  effusion 
of  blood  ;  and  we  know  that  the  sight  and  smell  of 
human  blood  produces  strange  effects  in  many  animals. 
May  there  not  liave  been  sometliing  of  this  kind  at  work 
in  this  singular  event  ? 

It  is  true  that  the  Evangelists  (as  tiieir  language  clearly 
show)  held,  in  all  its  simplicity,  the  belief  that  actual 
devils  passed  in  multitudes  out  of  the  man  and  into  the 
swine.  But  it  is  not  allowable  here  to  make  a  distinction 
between  actual  facts  aiid  that  which  was  the  mere  con- 
jecture and  inference  of  the  spectators  from  whom  the 
three  Evangelists  heard  tlie  tale  ?  If  we  are  not  bound  to 
believe  the  man's  hallucination  that  six  thousand  devils 
were  in  possession  of  his  soul,  are  we  bound  to  believe  the 
possibility,  suggested  by  iiis  perturbed  intellect,  that  the 
unclean  spirits  should  pass  from  him  into  the  swine  ?  If 
indeed  we  could  be  sure  that  Jesus  directly  encouraged  or 
sanctioned  in  the  man'j  miud  the  belief  that  the  swine 
were  indeed  driven  wild  by  the  unclean  spirits  which  passed 
objectively  from  the  body  of  the  Gcrgesene  into  the  bodies 
of  these  dumb  beasts,  then  we  could,  without  hesitation, 
believe  as  a  literal  truth,  however  incomprehensible,  that 
so  it  was.  liut  this  by  no  means  follows  indisputably  from 
what  we  know  of  the  method  of  the  Evangelists.     Let  all 


182  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

who  will,  hold  fast  to  the  conviction  that  men  and  beasts 
may  be  quite  literally  possessed  of  devils  ;  only  let  them 
beware  of  confusing  their  own  convictions,  wliich  are 
binding  on  themselves  alone,  witli  those  absolute  and 
eternal  certainties  which  cannot  be  rejected  without  moral 
blindness  by  others.  Let  them  remember  that  a  hard  and 
denunciative  dogmatism  approaches  more  nearly  than  any- 
thing else  to  that  Pharisaic  want  of  charity  which  tiie 
Lord  whom  they  Icve  and  worship  visited  with  his  most 
scathing  anger  and  rebuke.  The  literal  reality  of  demoniac 
possession  is  a  belief  for  which  more  may  perhaps  be  said 
than  is  admitted  by  the  purely  physical  science  of  the 
present  day,  but  it  is  not  a  necessary  article  of  the  Chris- 
tian creed  ;  and  if  any  reader  imagines  tliat  in  this  brief 
narrative,  to  a  greater  extent  than  in  any  other,  tliere  are 
certain  nuances  of  expression  in  which  subjective  infer- 
ences are  confused  with  exact  realities,  he  is  holding  a 
view  wliich  has  the  sanction  of  many  wise  and  thoughtful 
Churchmen,  and  has  a  right  to  do  so  without  the  slightest 
imputation  on  the  orthodoxy  of  his  belief. 

That  the  whole  scene  was  violent  and  startling  appears 
in  the  fact  that  the  keepers  of  the  swine  "  fled  and  told 
it  in  the  city  and  in  the  country."  Tlie  people  of  Gergesa, 
and  the  Gadarenes  and  Gerasenes  of  all  the  neighboring 
district,  flocked  out  to  see  tlie  Mighty  Stranger  who  had  thus 
visited  their  coasts.  What  livelier  or  moi'e  decisive  proof 
of  His  power  and  His  beneficence  could  they  have  had 
than  the  sight  which  met  their  eyes  ?  The  filthy  and 
frantic  demoniac  wlio  had  been  the  terror  of  the  country, 
so  that  none  could  pass  that  way — the  wild-eyed  dweller 
in  the  tombs  who  had  been  accustomed  to  gash  himself 
with  cries  of  rage,  and  whose  untamed  fierceness  broke 
away  all  fetters — was  now  calm  as  a  child.  Some 
charitable  hand  had  flung  an  outer  robe  over  his  naked 
figure,  and  he  was  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  clothed, 
and  in  his  right  mind. 

''And  they  were  afraid" — more  afraid  of  that  Holy 
Presence  than  of  the  previous  furies  of  the  possessed.  The 
man  indeed  was  saved;  but  what  of  that,  considering  that 
some  of  their  two  thousand  unclean  beasts  had  perished  ! 
Their  precious  swine  wei-e  evidently  in  danger  ;  the  greed 
and  gluttony  of  every  apostate  .few  and   low-bred  Gentile 


A  OKEAT  DA  Y  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS.  183 

in  the  place  were  clearly  imperiled  by  receiving  such  a  one 
as  they  saw  that  Jesus  was.  With  disgraceful  and  urgent 
iinaniniity  they  entreated  and  implored  Him  to  leave  their 
coasts.  i3oth  heathens  and  Jews  had  recognized  already 
the  great  truth  that  God  sometimes  answers  bad  prayers 
in  His  deepest  anger.  Jesus  Himself  had  taught  his  dis- 
ciples not  to  give  that  which  was  holy  to  the  dogs,  neither 
to  cast  their  pearls  before  swine,  •'  lest  they  trample  them 
under  their  feet,  and  turn  again  and  rend  you."  He  had 
gone  across  the  lake  for  quiet  and  rest,  desiring,  though 
among  lesser  multitudes,  to  extend  to  these  semi  heathens 
also  the  blessings  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  But  they  loved 
their  sins  and  their  swine,  and  with  a  perfect  energy  of 
deliberate  preference  for  all  that  was  base  and  mean, 
rejected  such  blessings,  and  entreated  him  to  go  away. 
Sadly,  but  at  once,  He  turned  and  left  them.  Gergesa 
was  no  place  for  Him  ;  better  the  lonely  hill-tops  to  the 
north  of  it;  better  the  crowded  strand  on  the  other  side. 

And  yet  He  did  not  leave  them  in  anger.  One  deed 
of  mercy  had  been  done  there  ;  one  sinner  had  been 
saved;  from  one  soul  the  unclean  spirits  had  been  cast  out. 
And  just  as  the  united  multitude  of  the  Gadarenes  had 
entreated  for  His  absence,  so  the  poor  saved  demoniac  en- 
treated henceforth  to  be  with  Him.  But  Jesus  would  fain 
leave  one  more,  one  last  opportunity  for  those  who  had 
rejected  Him.  On  otiiers  for  whose  sake  miracles  had  been 
performed  He  had  enjoined  silence  ;  on  this  man — since 
He  was  now  leaving  the  place  —  he  enjoined  publicity. 
"  Go  home,"  He  said,  "  to  thy  friends,  and  tell  them  how 
great  things  the  Lord  hath  done  for  thee,  and  iiath  had 
compassion  on  thee."  And  so  the  demoniac  of  Gergesa 
became  the  first  great  missionai-y  to  the  region  of  Decapo- 
lis,  bearing  in  his  own  person  the  confirmation  of  his 
words;  and  Jesus,  as  His  little  vessel  left  the  inhospitable 
shore,  might  still  hope  that  the  day  might  not  be  far  dis- 
tant— might  come,  at  any  rate,  before  over  that  ill-fated 
district  burst  the  storm  of  sword  and  fire — when 

"  E'en  the  witless  Gadarene, 
Preferring  Christ  to  swine,  would  feel 
That  life  is  sweetest  when  'tis  clean." 


1S4:  THE  LIFE  OF  CUBIST. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   DAY   OF   MATTHEW'S  FEAST. 

The  events  just  described  had  happened  apparently  in 
the  early  morning,  and  it  might  perhaps  be  noon  when 
Jesus  reached  once  more  the  Plain  of  Gennesareth.  Peo- 
})le  had  recognized  the  sail  of  His  returning  vessel,  and 
long  before  He  reached  land  the  multitudes  had  lined  the 
sliore,  and  were  waiting  for  Him,  and  received  Him  gladly. 

If  we  may  here  accept  as  chronological  the  order  of  St. 
Matthew — to  whom,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  this  must 
have  been  a  very  memorable  day — Jesus  went  first  into  the 
town  of  Capernaum,  which  was  now  regarded  as  *'  His  own 
city."  He  went  at  once  to  the  house — probably  the  house 
of  St.  Peter — which  He  ordinarily  used  when  staying  at 
Capernaum.  There  the  crowd  gathered  in  ever  denser 
numbers,  filling  the  house,  and  even  the  court-yard  which 
surrounded  it,  so  that  there  was  no  access  even  to  the 
door.  But  there  was  one  poor  sufferer — a  man  bedridden 
from  a  stroke  of  paralysis  —  who,  with  his  friends,  had 
absolutely  determined  that  access  should  be  made  for  Mm; 
he  would  be  one  of  those  violent  men  who  vt^ould  take 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  by  force.  And  the  four  who 
were  carrying  him.  finding  that  they  could  not  reach  Jesus 
through  the  crowd,  made  their  way  to  the  roof,  perhaps  by 
the  usual  outer  staircase,  and  making  an  aperture  in  the 
i-oof  by  the  removal  of  a  few  tiles,  let  down  the  paralytic, 
on  his  humble  couch,  exactly  in  front  of  the  place  where 
Christ  was  sitting.  The  man  was  silent,  perhaps  awe- 
struck at  his  manner  of  intrusion  into  the  Lord's  presence; 
but  Jesus  was  pleased  at  the  strength  and  nnhesitating 
boldness  of  faith  which  the  act  displayed,  and  bestowing 
first  upon  the  man  a  richer  blessing  than  that  which  he 
primarily  sought.  He  gently  said  to  him,  as  He  had  said  to 
the  woman  who  was  a  sinner,  *'  Be  of  good  courage, 
son:  thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee."  Our  Lord  had  before 
observed  the  unfavorable  impression  produced  on  the  by- 
staiuUirs  by  tliose  startling  words.  He  again  observed  it 
now  iu  the  interchanged  glances  of  the  Scribes  who  were 


THE  DAT  OF  MATTHEW'S  FEAST.  185 

present,  and  the  look  of  angry  disapproval  on  their  coun- 
tenances. But  on  this  occasion  He  did  not,  as  before, 
silently  substitute  another  plirase.  On  the  contrary,  he 
distinctly  challenged  attention  to  His  words,  and  miracu- 
lously justified  them.  Reading  their  thoughts,  He 
reproved  them  for  their  fierce  unuttered  calumnies  of 
which  their  hearts  were  full,  and  put  to  them  a  direct 
question.  "  Which,"  He  asked,  "is  easier?  to  say  to  the 
paralytic,  'Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee;'  or  to  say,  'Arise 
and  walk  ?'  "  May  not  anybody  my  the  former  without 
its  being  possible  to  tell  whether  the  sins  are  forgiven  or 
not?  but  who  can  say  the  latter,  and  give  effect  to  his  own 
words,  without  a  power  from  above?  If  I  can  by  a  word 
heal  this  paralytic,  is  it  not  clear  that  I  must  be  One  who 
has  also  power  on  eartii'to  forgive  sins?  Tlie  unanswerable 
question  was  received  with  the  silence  of  an  invincible 
obstinacy  ;  but  turning  once  more  to  the  paralytic,  Jesus 
said  to  Inm,  ''Ai'ise,  take  up  thy  bed,  and  walk."  At 
once  power  was  restored  to  the  palsied  limbs,  peace  to  the 
stricken  soul.  The  man  was  healed.  He  rose,  lifted  the 
light  couch  on  wliich  he  had  been  lying,  and,  wiiile  now 
the  crowd  openeil  a  passage  for  him,  he  went  to  his  house 
glorifying  God;  aiul  the  multitude,  when  they  broke  up 
to  disperse,  kept  exclianging  one  with  another  exclama- 
tions of  astonishment  not  unmixed  with  fear,  "We  saw 
strange  things  to-day!*'  "  We  never  saw  anything  like  this 
before'."' 

From  the  house — perhaps  to  allow  of  more  listeners 
hearing  His  words — Jesus  seems  to  have  adjourned  to  His 
favorite  shore  ;  and  thence,  after  a  brief  interval  of  teach- 
ing. He  repaired  to  the  house  of  Matthew,  in  which  the 
publican,  who  was  now  an  Apostle,  had  made  a  great  feast 
of  farewell  to  all  his  friends.  As  he  had  been  a  publican 
himself,  it  was  natural  that  many  of  these  also  would  be 
"publicans  and  sinners  " — the  outcasts  of  society,  objects 
at  once  of  hatred  and  contempt.  Yet  Jesus  and  His  dis- 
ciples, witii  no  toucli  of  scorn  or  exclusiveness,  sat  down 
with  them  at  the  feast:  "for  there  were  many,  and  they 
were  His  followers."  A  charity  so  liberal  caused  deep  dis- 
.satisfaction,  on  two  grounds,  to  two  powerful  bodies — the 
Pharisees  and  the  disciples  of  John.  To  the  former, 
mainly    because    this   contact   with    men   of  careless   and 


I8(j  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

evil  lives  violated  all  the  traditions  of  their  haughty  scru- 
pulosity ;  to  the  latter,  because  this  ready  acceptance  of  in- 
vitations to  scenes  of  feasting  seemed  to  discountenance 
the  necessity  for  their  half-Essenian  asceticism.  The  com- 
plaints could  hardly  have  been  made  at  the  time,  for  un- 
less any  Pliarisees  or  disciples  of  John  merely  looked  in 
from  curiosity  during  the  progress  of  the  meal,  their  own 
presence  there  would  have  involved  them  in  the  very 
blame  which  they  were  casting  on  their  Lord.  But  Jesus 
probably  heard  of  their  murmurs  before  the  feast  was  over. 
There  was  something  characteristic  in  the  way  in  which  the 
criticism  was  made.  The  Pharisees,  still  a  little  dubious 
as  to  Christ's  real  character  and  mission,  evidently  over- 
awed by  His  greatness,  and  not  yet  having  ventured  upon 
any  open  rupture  with  Him,  only  vented  their  ill  humor 
on  the  disciples,  asking  them,  "why  their  Master  ate  with 
publicans  and  sinners  ?  "  The  simple-minded  Apostles 
were  perhaps  unable  to  explain  ;  but  Jesus  at  once  faced 
the  opposition,  and  told  these  murmuring  respectabilities 
that  He  came  not  to  the  self-righteous,  but  to  the  conscious 
sinners.  He  came  not  to  the  folded  flock,  but  to  the  stray- 
ing sheep.  To  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  poor,  to  extend 
mercy  to  the  lost,  was  the  very  object  for  which  He  taber- 
nacled among  men.  It  was  his  will  )iot  to  thrust  His 
grace  on  those  who  from  the  very  first  Avillfully  steeled 
their  hearts  against  it,  but  gently  to  extend  it  to  those  who 
needed  and  felt  their  need  of  it.  His  teaching  was  to  be 
*'as  the  small  rain  upon  the  tender  herb,  and  as  the  show- 
ers upon  the  grass."  And  then,  referring  them  to  one  of 
those  palmary  passages  of  the  Old  Testament  (Hos.  vi.  6) 
"which  even  \\\  those  days  had  summed  up  the  very  essence 
of  all  that  was  pleasing  to  God  in  love  and  mercy.  He  bor- 
rowed the  phrase  of  their  own  Rabbis,  and  bade  them — 
these  teacliers  of  the  people,  who  claimed  to  knew  so  much 
— to  *'go  and  learn"  what  that  meaneth,  "  I  will  have 
mercy,  and  not  sacrifice."  Perhaps  it  had  never  before 
occurred  to  their  astonished  minds,  overlaid  as  they  were 
by  a  crust  of  mere  Nevitism  and  tradition,  that  the  love 
which  thinks  it  no  condescension  to  mingle  with  sinners 
in  the  effort  to  win  their  souls,  is  more  pleasing  to  God 
than  thousands  ■of  rams  and  tens  of  thousands  of  rivers  of 
oil. 


THE  DA  T  OF  MA  Tl'IIEW'S  FEAST.  187 

The  answer  to  the  soinewliat  querulous  question  asked 
Him  by  John^s  disciples  was  less  severe  in  tone.  No  doubt 
He  pitied  that  natural  dejection  of  mind  which  arose  from 
the  position  of   the  great  teacher,  to  whom  alone  they  had 
as  yet  learned  to  look,  and  who  now  lay  in  the  dreary  mis- 
ery of  a  Machfertis   dungeon.     He    might    have   answered 
that  fasting  was  at   the  best  a  work  of   supererogation — 
useful,  indeed,  and  obligatory,  if  any  man  felt  that  thereby 
he  was  assisted  in  the  mortification  of  anything  which  was 
evil  in  his  nature — but  worse  than  useless  if  it  merely  min- 
istered   to    his   spiritual    pride,   and    led   him    to   despise 
others.     He  might  have  pointed  out  to  them  tliat  although 
they  had  instituted  a  fast  twice  in   the  week,  this  was  but 
a  traditional  institution,  so  little  sanctioned  by  the  Mosaic 
law,  that  in  it  but  one  single  day  of  fasting  was  appointed  for 
the   entire   year.      He  might,    too,    have  added   that   the 
reason  why  fasting  had  not  been  made  a  universal  duty  is 
probably  that  spirit  of  mercy  which  recognized  how  differ- 
ently it  worked   upon  different  temperaments,  fortifying 
some  against  the  attacks  of  temptations,  but  only  hindering 
others   in    the   accomplishment   of   duty.     Or   again,  He 
might  have  referred  them  to  those  passages  in  their  own 
Prophets  which  pointed  out  that,  in  the  sight  of   God,  the 
true  fasting  is  not  mere   abstinence  from    food,  while   all 
the  time  the  man  is  "  smiting  with  the  fist  of  wickedness;" 
but  rather  to  love  mercy,  and  to  do  justice,  and  to  let  the 
oppressed  go  free.     But  instead  of  all  these  lessons,  which, 
in  their  present  state,  might  only  have  exasperated  their 
prejudices,  He  answers  them  only  by  a  gentle  argumentum 
ad  hominem.     Referring  to  the  fine  image  in  which  their 
own  beloved  and  revered  teacher  had  spoken  of  Him  as 
the  bridegroom,  He  contented  Himself  with  asking  them, 
"  Can  ye  make  the  children  of  the  bridechamber  fast  while 
the  bridegroom  is  with  them?"  and  then,  looking  calmly 
down    at  the   deep   abyss  which  yawned   before  Him,  He 
uttered  a  saying  which — although  at  that  time  none  prob- 
ably understood  it — was  perhaps  the    very  earliest   public 
intimation  that  He  gave  of  the  violent  end  which   awaited 
Him.      "But   the   days  will    come  when    the  bridegroom 
shall  be  taken  away  from   them,  and  then  shall  they  fast 
in  those  days,"     Further  He  told   them,  in  words  of  yet 
deeper  significance,  though  expressed,  as  so  often,  in   the 


188  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

homeliest  metaphors,  tliat  His  rehgioii  is,  as  it  were,  a 
robe  entirely  new,  not  a  patch  of  unteazled  cloth  upon 
an  old  robe,  serving  only  to  make  worse  its  original  rents; 
that  it  is  not  new  wine,  pnt,  in  all  its  fresh  fermenting, 
expansive  strength,  into  old  and  worn  wine-skins,  and  so 
serving  only  to  burst  the  wine-skins  and  be  lost,  but  neiu 
Avine  in  fresh  wine-skins.  The  new  spirit  was  to  be  em- 
bodied in  wholly  renovated  forms  ;  the  new  freedom  was 
to  be  untrammelled  by  obsolete  and  meaningless  limita- 
tions ;  the  spiritual  doctrine  was  to  be  sundered  forever 
from  mere  elaborate  and  external  ceremonials. 

St.  Luke  also  has  preserved  for  us  the  tender  and  re- 
markable addition — "  No  man  also  having  drunk  old  wine 
straightway  desireth  new  :  for  he  saith.  The  old  is  excel- 
lent." Perhaps  the  fact  that  these  words  were  found  to 
be  obscure  has  caused  the  variety  of  readings  in  the  orig- 
inal text.  There  is  nothing  less  like  the  ordinary  charac- 
ter of  man  than  to  make  allowance  for  difference  of  opinion 
in  matters  of  religion  ;  yet  it  is  the  duty  of  doing  this 
which  the  words  imply.  He  had  been  showing  them  that 
His  kingdom  was  something  more  than  a  restitution 
{(XTroHarddradti),  it  was  a  re-ci'cation  {rtaAiyyEvydia);  but 
He  knew  how  hard  it  was  for  men  trained  in  the  tradition 
of  the  Pharisees,  and  in  admiration  for  the  noble  asceticism 
of  the  Baptist,  to  accept  truths  which  were  to  tliem  both 
new  and  strange;  and,  therefore,  even  when  he  is  endeavor- 
ing to  lighten  their  darkness,  He  shows  that  He  can  look 
on  them  "  with  larger  other  eyes,  to  make  allowance  for 
them  all." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   DAY   OF    MATTHEVV'S    FEAST    {continued). 

The  feast  was  scarcely  over  at  the  house  of  Matthew, 
and  Jesus  was  still  engaged  in  the  kindly  teaching  which 
arose  out  of  the  question  of  John's  disciples,  when  another 
event  occurred  which  led  in  succession  to  three  of  the 
greatest  miracles  of  His  earthly  life. 

A  ruler  of  the  synagogue — the  rosh  Itahkenheth,  or  chief 
elder  of  the  congregation,  to  whom  the  Jews  looked  with 


THE  DA  Y  OF  yfA  TTIIEW'S  FEAST.  1 89 

great  respect — came  to  Jesus  in  extreme  agitation.  It  is 
not  improbable  that  this  rnler  of  the  synagogue  had  been 
one  of  the  very  deputation  who  had  pleaded  with  Jesus  for 
the  centurion-proselyte  by  whom  it  had  been  built.  If  so, 
he  knew  by  experience  the  power  of  Him  to  whom  he  now 
appealed.  Flinging  himself  at  His  feet  with  broken  words 
— which  in  the  original  still  sound  as  though  they  were 
interrupted  and  rendered  incoherent  by  bursts  of  grief — 
he  tells  Him  that  his  little  daughter,  his  only  daughter,  is 
dying,  is  dead;  but  still,  if  He  will  but  come  and  lay  His 
hand  upon  her,  she  shall  live.  With  the  tenderness  which 
could  not  be  deaf  to  a  mourner's  cry,  Jesus  rose  at  once 
from  the  table,  and  went  with  him,  followed  not  only 
by  His  disciples,  but  also  by  a  dense  expectant  multitude, 
which  had  been  witness  of  the  scene.  And  as  He  went 
the  people  in  their  eagerness  pressed  upon  Him  and 
thronged  Him, 

But  among  this  throng — containing  doubtless  some  of 
the  Pharisees  and  of  John's  disciples  with  whom  He  had 
been  discoursing,  as  well  as  some  of  the  publicans  and  sin- 
ners with  whom  He  had  been  seated  at  the  feast — there 
was  one  who  had  not  been  attracted  by  curiosity  to  witness 
what  would  be  done  for  the  ruler  of  the  synagogue.  It 
was  a  woman  who  fo"  twelve  years  had  suffered  from  a  dis- 
tressing malady,  which  unfitted  her  for  all  the  relationships 
of  life,  and  which  was  peculiarly  afflicting,  because  in  the 
popular  mind  it  was  regarded  as  a  direct  consequence  of 
sinful  habits.  In  vain  had  she  wasted  her  substance  and 
done  fresh  injury  to  her  health  in  the  effort  to  procure  relief 
from  many  different  physicians,  and  now,  as  a  last  desper- 
ate resource,  she  would  try  what  could  be  gained  without 
money  and  without  price  from  the  Great  Physician,  Per- 
haps, in  her  ignorance,  it  was  because  she  had  no  longer 
any  reward  to  offer ;  perhaps  because  she  was  ashamed  in 
her  feminine  modesty  to  reveal  the  malady  from  which 
she  had  been  suffering;  but  from  whatever  cause,  she  de- 
termined, as  it  were,  to  steal  from  Him,  unknown,  the 
blessing  for  which  she  longed.  And  so,  with  the  strength 
and  pertinacity  of  despair,  she  struggled  in  that  dense 
throng  until  she  was  near  enough  to  touch  Him  ;  and 
then,  perhaps  all  the  more  violently  from  her  extreme  nerv- 
ousness, she  grasped  the  white  fringe  of  His  robe.     By  the 


100  THE  LIFK  OF  CHRIST. 

law  of  Moses,  every  Jew  was  to  wear  at  each  corner  of 
his  tallith  a  fringe  or  tassel,  bound  by  a  riband  of  symbolic 
blue,  to  remind  him  that  lie  was  holy  to  God.  Two  of 
these  fringes  usually  hung  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  robe; 
one  hung  over  the  shoulder  where  the  robe  was  folded 
round  the  person.  It  was  probably  this  one  that  she 
touched  with  seci-et  and  trembling  haste,  and  then,  feeling 
instantly  that  she  had  gained  her  desire  and  was  healed, 
she  shrank  back  unnoticed  into  the  throng.  Unnoticed 
by  others,  but  not  by  Christ.  Perceiving  that  healing 
power  had  gone  out  of  Him,  recognizing  the  one  magnetic 
touch  of  timid  faith  even  amid  the  pressure  of  the  crowd. 
He  stopped  and  asked,  "Who  touched  my  clothes?" 
There  was  something  almost  impatient  in  the  reply  of 
Peter,  as  though  in  such  a  throng  he  thought  it  absurd  to 
ask,  "  Who  touched  me  ?"  But  Jesus,  His  eyes  still 
wandering  over  the  many  faces,  told  him  that  there  was  a 
difference  between  the  crowding  of  curiosity  and  the  touch 
of  faith,  and  as  at  last  His  glance  fell  on  the  poor  woman, 
she,  perceiving  tliat  she  had  erred  in  trying  to  filch  the 
blessing  which  He  would  have  graciously  bestowed,  came 
forward  fearing  and  trembling,  and,  flinging  herself  at  His 
feet,  told  Him  all  the  truth.  All  her  feminine  shame  and 
fear  were  forgotten  in  her  desire  to  atone  for  her  fault. 
Doubtless  she  dreaded  His  anger,  for  the  law  expressly 
ordained  that  the  touch  of  one  afflicted  as  she  was,  caused 
ceremonial  nncleanliness  till  the  evening.  But  His  touch 
had  cleansed  her,  not  her's  polluted  Him.  So  far  from 
being  indignant.  He  said  to  her,  "Daughter" — and  at 
once  at  the  sound  of  that  gracious  word  sealed  her  pardon 
— "go  in  peace:  thy  faith  hath  saved  thee;  be  healed 
from  thy  disease." 

The  incident  must  have  caused  a  brief  delay,  and,  as  we 
have  seen,  to  the  anguish  of  Jairus  every  instant  was 
critical.  But  he  was  not  the  only  sufferer  who  had  a  claim 
on  the  Saviour's  mercy  ;  and,  as  he  uttered  no  com])laint, 
it  is  clear  that  sorrow  had  not  made  him  selfish.  But  at 
this  moment  a  messenger  reached  him  with  the  brief  mes- 
sage— "Thy  daughter  is  dead;"  and  then,  apparently 
with  a  touch  of  dislike  and  irony,  he  added,  "  Worry  not 
the  Rabbi." 

The  message  had  not  been  addressed  to  Jesus,  but  He 


THE  DA 7  OF  MATTHEW'S  FEAST.  l9l 

overheard  it,  ami  with  a  compassionate  desire  to  spare  the 
poor  father  from  needless  agony,  He  said  to  him  those 
memorable  words,  "Fear  not,  only  believe."  They  soon 
arrived  at  his  honse,  and  found  it  occupied  by  the  hired 
mourners  and  flute  players,  who,  as  they  beat  their  breasts, 
with  mercenary  clamor,  insulted  the  dumbness  of  sincere 
sorrow  and  the  patient  majesty  of  death.  Probably  this 
simulated  wailing  would  be  very  repulsive  to  the  soul  of 
Christ ;  and,  first  stopping  at  the  door  to  forbid  any  of  the 
multitude  to  follow  Him,  He  entered  the  house  with  three 
only  of  the  inmost  circle  of  His  Apostles — Peter,  and 
James,  and  John.  On  entering.  His  first  care  was  to  still 
the  idle  noise;  but  when  His  kind  declaration — "The 
little  maid  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth  " — was  only  received 
with  coarse  ridicule.  He  indignantly  ejected  the  paid 
mourners.  When  calm  was  restored,  He  took  with  him 
the  father  and  the  mother  and  His  three  Apostles,  and 
entered  with  quiet  reverence  the  chamber  hallowed  by  the 
silence  and  awfulness  of  death.  Then,  taking  the  little 
cold  dead  hand,  He  uttered  these  two  thrilling  words, 
"  Talitlia  ciimi!"—"  IAhXq  maid,  arise!"  and  her  spirit 
returned,  and  the  child  arose  and  walked.  An  awful 
amazement  seized  the  parents ;  but  Jesus  calmly  bade 
them  give  the  child  some  food.  And  if  He  added  His 
customary  warning  that  they  should  not  speak  of  what 
had  happened,  it  was  not  evidently  in  the  intention  that 
the  entire  fact  should  remain  unknown — for  that  would 
have  been  impossible,  when  all  the  circumstances  had  been 
witnessed  b}''  so  many — but  because  those  who  have 
received  from  God's  hand  unbounded  mei-cy  are  more 
likely  to  reverence  that  mercy  with  adoring  gratitude  if  it 
be  kept  like  a  hidden  treasure  in  the  inmost  heart. 

Crowded  and  overwhelming  as  had  been  the  incidents  of 
this  long  night  and  day,  it  seems  probable  from  St. 
Matthew  that  it  was  signalized  by  yet  one  more  astonish- 
ing work  of  power.  For  as  he  departed  thence  two  blind 
men  followed  Him  with  the  cry — as  yet  unheard — "  Son 
of  David,  have  mercy  on  us."  Already  Christ  had  begun 
to  check,  as  it  were,  the  spontaneity  of  His  miracles.  He 
had  performed  more  than  sufficient  to  attest  His  power 
and  mission,  and  it  was  important  that  men  should 
pay  more    heed    to    His   divine   eternal   teaching  than  to 


103  THE  LIFE  OF  C'lIRlST. 

His  tenii)oral  liealiiigs.  Nor  would  He  as  yet  sanction 
the  premature  and  perhaps  ill-considered,  use  of  the 
Messianic  title  "  Son  of  David  " — a  title  which,  had  He 
publicly  accepted  it,  might  have  thwarted  His  sacred  pur- 
poses, by  leading  to  an  instaiitaneous  revolt  in  His  favor 
against  the  Roman  power.  Without  noticing  the  men  or 
their  cry,  He  went  to  the  house  in  Capernaum  where  He 
abode  ;  nor  was  it  until  they  had  persistently  followed  Him 
into  the  house  that  He  tested  their  faith  by  the  question, 
"  Believe  ye  that  I  am  able  to  do  this  ?"  They  said  unto 
Him,  "  Yea,  Lord."  Then  touched  He  their  eyes, 
saying,  ''According  to  your  faith  be  it  unto  you." 
And  their  eyes  were  opened.  Like  so  many  whom 
He  healed,  they  neglected  His  stern  command  not 
to  reveal  it.  There  are  some  who  have  admired  their  dis- 
obedience, and  have  attributed  it  to  the  enthusiasm  of 
gratitude  and  admiration  ;  but  was  it  not  rather  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  blatant  wonder,  the  vulgarity  of  a  chattering 
boast?  How  many  of  these  multitudes  who  had  been 
healed  by  Him  became  His  true  disciples  ?  Did  not  the 
holy  fire  of  devotion  which  a  hallowed  silence  must  have 
kept  alive  upon  the  altar  of  their  hearts  die  away  in  the 
mere  blaze  of  empty  rumor?  Did  not  he  know  best? 
Would  not  obedience  have  been  better  than  sacrifice,  and 
to  hearken  than  the  fat  of  rams?  Yes.  It  is  possible  to 
deceive  ourselves;  it  is  possible  to  offer  to  Christ  a  seeming 
service  which  disobeys  His  inmost  precepts — to  grieve  Hiin, 
under  the  guise  of  honoring  Him.  by  vain  repetitions,  and 
empty  genuflections,  and  bitter  intolerance,  and  irreverent 
familiaritv,  and  the  hollow  simulacrum  of  a  dead  devotion. 
Better,  far  better,  to  sei've  Him  by  doing  the  things  He 
said  than  by  a  seeming  zeal,  often  false  in  exact  proportion 
to  its  obtrusiveness,  for  the  glory  of  His  name.  These 
disobedient  babblers,  who  talked  so  much  of  Him.  did  but 
offer  Him  the  dishonoring  service  of  a  double  heart;  their 
violation  of  His  commandment  served  only  to  hinder  His 
usefulness,  to  trouble  His  spirit,  and  to  precipitate  His 
death. 


A  VISIT  ro  JKRU8ALEM.  193 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    VISIT   TO   JERUSALEM. 


Any  one  who  has  carefully  and  repeatedly  studied  the 
Gospel  narratives  side  by  side,  in  order  to  form  from  them 
as  clear  a  conception  as  is  possible  of  the  life  of  Christ  on 
earth,  can  hardly  fail  to  have  been  struck  with  two  or 
three  general  facts  respecting  the  sequence  of  events  in  His 
public  ministry.  In  spite  of  the  difficulty  introduced  by 
the  varying  and  non-chronological  arrangements  of  the 
Synoptists,  and  by  the  silence  of  the  fourth  Gospel  about 
the  main  part  of  the  preaching  in  Galilee,  we  see  distinctly 
the  following  circumstances: 

1.  That  the  innocent  enthusiasm  of  joyous  welcome  with 
which  Jesus  and  His  words  and  works  were  at  first  received 
in  Northern  Galilee  gradually,  but  in  a  short  space  of  time, 
gave  way  to  suspicion,  dislike,  and  even  hostility,  on  the 
part  of  large  and  powerful  sections  of  the  people. 

^Z.  That  the  external  character,  as  well  as  the  localities, 
of  our  Lord's  mission  were  much  altered  after  the  murder 
of  John  the  Baptist. 

3.  That  the  tidings  of  this  murder,  together  with  a 
marked  development  of  opposition,  and  the  constant  pres- 
ence of  Scribes  and  Pharisees  from  Judaea  to  watch  His 
conduct  and  dog  His  movements,  seems  to  synchronise 
with  a  visit  to  Jerusalem  not  recorded  by  the  Synoptists, 
but  evidently  identical  with  the  nameless  festival  men- 
tioned in  John  v.  1. 

4.  That  this  unnamed  festival  must  have  occurred 
somewhere  about  the  period  of  His  ministry  at  which  we 
have  now  arrived. 

What  this  feast  was  we  shall  consider  immediately;  but 
it  was  preceded  by  another  event — the  mission  of  the 
Twelve  Apostles. 

At  the  close  of  the  missionary  journeys,  during  which 
occurred  some  of  the  events  described  in  the  last  chapters, 
Jesus  was  struck  with  compassion  at  the  sight  of  the  mul- 
titude. They  reminded  Him  of  slieep  harassed  by  enemies, 
and  lying  panting  and  neglected  in  the  fields  because  they 


394  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

liave  no  shephertl.  They  also  called  up  to  the  rniiul  the 
image  of  a  harvest  ripe,  but  unreaped  for  lack  of  laborers; 
and  He  bade  His  Apostles  pray  to  the  Lord  of  the  harvest 
that  He  would  send  forth  laborers  into  His  harvest.  And 
then,  immediately  afterward,  liaving  Himself  now  traversed 
ihe  whole  of  Galilee,  He  sent  them  out  two  and  two  to 
confirm  His  teaching  and  perform  works  of  mercy  in  His 
name. 

Before  sending  them  He  naturally  gave  them  the  instruc- 
tions which  were  to  guide  their  conduct.  At  present  they 
were  to  confine  their  mission  to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  house 
of  Israel,  and  not  extend  it  to  Samaritans  or  Gentiles.  The 
topic  of  their  preaching  was  to  be  the  nearness  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  and  it  was  to  be  freely  supported  by 
works  of  power  and  beneficence.  They  were  to  take  noth- 
ing with  them;  no  scrip  for  food;  no  purse  for  money;  no 
change  of  raiment;  no  traveling  shoes  {vTtoSrjjuara,  calcei), 
in  place  of  their  ordinary  palm-bark  sandals;  they  were  not 
even  to  procure  a  staff  for  their  journey  if  they  did  not 
happen  already  to  possess  one;  their  mission — like  all  the 
greatest  and  most  effective  missions  which  the  world  has 
ever  known — was  to  be  simple  and  self-supporting.  The 
open  hospitality  of  the  East,  so  often  used  as  the  basis  for 
a  dissemination  of  new  thoughts,  would  be  ample  for  their 
maintenance.  On  entering  a  town  they  were  to  go  to  any 
liouse  in  it  where  they  had  reason  to  hope  that  they  would 
be  welcome,  and  to  salute  it  with  the  immemorial  and 
much-valued  blessing,  Shalom  lakem,  "  Peace  be  to  you," 
and  if  the  children  of  peace  were  there  the  blessing  would 
be  effective;  if  not,  it  would  return  on  their  own  heads. 
If  rejected,  they  were  to  shake  off  the  dust  of  their  feet  in 
witness  that  they  had  spoken  faithfully,  and  that  they  thus 
symbolically  cleared  themselves  of  all  responsibility  for  that 
judgment  which  should  fall  more  heavily  on  willful  and 
final  haters  of  the  light  than  on  the  darkest  places  of  a 
heathendom  in  which  the  light  had  never,  or  but  feebly, 
shone. 

So  far  their  Lord  had  pointed  out  to  them  the  duties 
of  trustful  faith,  of  gentle  courtesy,  of  self-denying  sim- 
plicity, as  the  first  essentials  of  missionary  success.  He 
proceeded  to  fortify  them  against  the  inevitable  trials  and 
persecutions  of  their  missionary  work. 


A   VISIT  TO  JERUSALEM.  I95 

They  needed  and  were  to  exercise  the  wisdom  of  ser- 
pents no  less  than  the  harmlossness  of  doves  :  for  He  was 
sending  them  forth  as  sheep  among  wolves. 

Doubtless  these  discourses  were  not  always  delivered  in 
the  continuous  form  in  which  they  have  naturally  come 
down  to  us.  Our  Lord  seems  at  all  times  to  have 
graciously  encouraged  the  questions  of  humble  and  earnest 
listeners;  and  at  this  point  we  are  told  by  an  ancient  tra- 
dition, that  St.  Peter — ever,  as  we  may  be  sure,  a  most 
eager  and  active-minded  listener — interrupted  his  Master 
with  the  not  unnatural  question,  '*'  But  how  then  if  the 
wolves  should  tear  the  lambs  ?"  And  Jesus  answered, 
smiling  perhaps  at  the  naive  and  literal  intellect  of  His 
chief  Apostle,  "  Let  not  the  lambs  fear  the  wolves  when 
the  lambs  are  once  dead,  and  do  you  fear  not  those  who 
can  kill  you  and  do  nothing  to  you,  but  fear  Him  who 
after  you  are  dead  hath  power  over  soul  and  body  to  cast 
them  into  hell-fire.'" 

And  then,  continuing  the  thread  of  His  discourse.  He 
warned  them  plainly  how,  both  at  this  time  and  again 
long  afterward,  they  might  be  brought  before  councils, 
and  scourged  in  synagogues,  aiid  stand  at  the  judgment- 
bar  of  kings,  and  yet,  without  any  anxious  premeditation, 
the  Spirit  should  teach  them  what  to  say.  The  doctrine 
of  peace  should  be  changed  by  the  evil  passions  of  men 
into  a  v/ar-cry  of  fury  and  liate,  and  they  might  be  driven 
to  fly  before  the  face  of  enemies  from  city  to  city.  Still 
let  them  endure  to  the  end,  for  before  they  had  gone 
through  the  cities  of  Israel,  the  Son  of  Man  should  have 
come. 

Then,  lastly.  He  at  once  warned  and  comforted  them 
by  reminding  them  of  what  He  Himself  had  suffered,  and 
how  he  bad  been  opposed.  Let  them  not  fear.  The  God 
wlio  cared  even  for  the  little  birds  when  they  fell  to  the 
ground  —  the  God  by  whom  the  very  hairs  of  their  head 
were  numbered — the  God  who  (and  here  He  glanced  back 
perhaps  at  the  question  of  Peter)  held  in  His  hand  the 
issues,  not  of  life  and  death  only,  but  of  eternal  life  and  of 
eternal  death,  and  who  was  therefoi-e  more  to  be  feared 
than  the  wolves  of  earth — He  was  with  them  ;  He  would 
acknowledge  those  whom  His  Son  acknowledged,  and  deny 
those  whom  He  denied.     They  were  being  sent  forth  into 


inr,  Tii?:  life  of  airntsr. 

a  world  of  strife,  which  woiiltl  seem  even  the  more  deadly 
because  of  the  peace  which  it  rejected.  Even  their  near- 
est and  their  dearest  might  side  with  the  world  against 
them.  But  they  who  wouhl  be  Ilis  true  followers  must 
for  His  sake  give  up  a//;  must  even  take  up  their  cross 
and  follow  Ilim.  But  then,  for  their  comfort.  He  told 
them  that  they  should  be  as  He  was  in  the  world  ;  that 
they  who  received  them  should  receive  Him  ;  that  to  lose 
their  lives  for  His  sake  would  be  to  more  than  find  them; 
that  a  cup  of  cold  water  given  to  the  youngest  and  hum- 
blest of  His  little  ones  should  not  miss  of  its  reward. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  these  great  parting  instructions  as 
given  by  St.  Matthew,  and  every  missionary  and  every 
minister  should  write  them  in  letters  of  gold.  The  ster- 
ility of  missionary  labor  is  a  constant  subject  of  regret 
and  discouragement  among  us.  Would  it  be  so  if  all 
our  missions  were  carried  out  in  this  wise  and  concilia- 
tory, in  this  simple  and  self-abandoning,  in  this  faith- 
ful and  dauntless  spirit  ?  Was  a  missionary  ever  unsuc- 
cessful who,  being  enabled  by  the  grace  of  God  to  live 
in  the  light  of  such  precepts  as  these,  worked  as  St.  Paul 
worked,  or  St.  Francis  Xavier,  or  Henry  Martyn,  or 
Adoniram  Judson,  or  John  Eliot,  or  David  Schwarz  ? 

That  the  whole  of  this  discourse  was  not  delivered  on 
this  occasion,  that  there  are  references  in  it  to  later 
periods,  that  parts  of  it  are  only  applicable  to  other  apos- 
tolic missions  which  as  yet  lay  far  in  the  future,  seems 
clear;  but  we  may,  nevertheless,  be  grateful  that  St.  Mat- 
thew, guided  as  usual  by  unity  of  subject,  collected  into 
one  focus  the  scattered  rays  of  instruction  delivered,  per- 
haps, on  several  subsequent  occasions  —  as  for  instance, 
before  the  sending  of  the  Seventy,  and  even  as  the  parting 
utterances  of  the  risen  Christ. 

The  Jews  were  familiar  with  the  institution  of  SJie- 
luchim,  the  plenipotentiaries  of  some  higher  authority. 
This  was  the  title  by  which  Christ  seems  to  have  marked 
out  the  position  of  His  Apostles.  It  was  a  wise  and 
merciful  provision  that  He  sent  them  out  two  and  two;  it 
enabled  them  to  hold  sweet  converse  together,  and  mutu- 
ally to  correct  each  other's  faults.  Doubtless  the  friends 
and  the  brothers  went  in  pairs  ;  t])e  fiery  Peter  with  the 
more  contemplative  Andrew  ;  the  Sons  of  Thunder — one 


A   VISIT  TO  Jh-MU^ALBM.  197 

iiifluential  and  commanding,  the  other  emotional  and  elo- 
quent: the  kindred  faith  and  guilelessness  of  Philip  and 
Bartlioloinew  ;  the  slow  bnt  faitliful  Thomas  with  the 
thoughtful  and  devoted  Matthew  ;  the  ascetic  James  with 
his  brother  the  impassioned  Jude;  the  zealot  Simon  to  fire 
with  his  theocratic  zeal  the  dark,  flagging,  despairing 
spirit  of  the  traitor  Judas. 

During  their  absence  Jesus  continued  his  work  alone, 
perhaps  as  He  slowly  made  His  way  toward  Jerusalem  ;  for 
if  we  can  speak  of  probability  at  ail  amid  the  deep  uncer- 
tainties of  the  chronology  of  His  ministry,  it  seems 
extremely  probable  that  it  is  to  this  point  that  the  verse 
belongs — "  After  this  there  was  a  feast  of  the  Jews,  and 
Jesus  went  up  to  Jerusalem."  This  nameless  feast  was  in 
all  probability  the  Feast  of  Purim. 

But  how  came  Jesus  to  go  up  to  Jerusalem  for  such  a 
feast  as  this — a  feast  which  was  the  saturnalia  of  Juda^ism; 
a  feast  which  was  without  divine  authority,  and  had  its 
roots  in  the  most  intensely  exclusive,  not  to  say  vindictive 
feelings  of  the  nation;  a  feast  of  merriment  and  masquer- 
ade, which  was  purely  social  and  often  discreditably  con- 
vivial; a  feast  which  was  unconnected  with  religious  serv- 
ices, and  was  observed,  not  in  the  Temple,  not  even 
necessarily  in  the  synogogues,  but  mainly  in  the  private 
houses  of  the  Jews. 

The  answer  seems  to  be  that,  although  Jesus  was  in 
Jerusalem  at  this  feast,  and  went  up  about  the  time  that 
it  was  held,  the  words  of  St.  Jolin  do  not  necessarily 
imply  that  He  went  up  for  the  express  purpose  of  being 
present  at  tliis  particular  festival.  The  Passover  took 
place  only  a  month  afterward,  and  He  may  well  have  gone 
up  mainhj  with  the  intention  of  being  joresent  at  the  Pass- 
over, although  He  gladly  availed  Himself  of  an  opportu- 
nity for  being  in  Jndiea  and  Jerusalem  a  month  before  it, 
both  that  He  might  once  more  preach  in  those  neighbor- 
hoods, and  that  He  might  avoid  the  publicity  and  danger- 
ous excitement  involved  in  His  joining  the  caravan  of  the 
Passover  pilgrims  from  Galilee.  Such  an  opportunity  may 
naturally  have  arisen  from  the  absence  of  the  Apostles  on 
their  missionary  tonr.  The  Synoplists  give  clear  indica- 
tions that  Jesus  had  friends  and  well-wishers  at  Jerusalem 
and  in  its  vicinity.     He  must  therefore  have  paid  visits  to 


198  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

those  regions  wliicli  tliey  do  not  record,  Per]iai)S  it  was 
among  those  friends  that  lie  awaited  tlie  return  of  Ilis 
immediate  followers.  We  know  the  deep  affection  which 
He  entertained  for  the  members  of  one  household  in 
Bethany,  and  it  is  not  unnatural  to  suppose  that  He  was 
now  living  in  the  peaceful  seclusion  of  that  pious  house- 
hold as  a  solitary  and  honored  guest. 

But  even  if  St.  John  intends  us  to  believe  that  the 
occurrence  of  this  feast  was  the  immediate  cause  of  this 
visit  to  Jerusalem,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  there  is  no 
proof  whatever  of  its  having  been  in  our  Lord's  time  the 
fantastic  and  disorderly  commemoration  which  it  subse- 
quently became.  The  nobler-minded  Jews  doubtless  ob- 
served it  in  a  calm  and  grateful  manner;  and  as  one  part 
of  the  festival  consisted  in  showing  acts  of  kindness  to  the 
poor,  it  may  have  offered  an  attraction  to  Jesus,  both  on 
this  ground  and  because  it  enabled  Him  to  show  that 
there  was  nothing  unnational  or  unpatriotic  in  the  univer- 
sal character  of  His  message,  or  the  all-embracing  infini- 
tude of  the  charity  which  He  both  practiced  and  en- 
Joined. 

There  remains  then  but  a  single  question.  The  Pass- 
over was  rapidly  drawing  near,  and  His  presence  at  that 
great  feast  would  on  every  ground  be  expected.  Why  then 
did  He  absent  Himself  from  it  ?  Why  did  He  return  to 
Galilee  instead  of  remaining  at  Jerusalem  ?  The  events 
which  we  are  about  to  narrate  will  furnish  a  sufficient 
answer  to  this  question. 


CHAPTER  XXVIT. 

THE   MIRACLE    OF   BETHESDA. 

There  was  in  Jerusalem,  near  the  Sheep-gate,  a  pool, 
which  was  believed  to  possess  remarkable  healing  proper- 
ties. For  this  reason,  in  addition  to  its  usual  name,  it  had 
been  called  in  Hebrew  ''Bethesda,"  or  the  House  of 
Mercy,  and  under  the  porticoes  which  adorned  the 
pentagonal  masonry  in  which  it  was  inclosed  lay  a 
multitude  of  sufferers  from  blindness,  lameness,  and 
atrophy,  waiting  to  take  advantage  of  the  bubbling  and 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  BETHESDA.  199 

gushing  of  the  water,  which  showed  that  its  medicinal 
properties  were  at  tlieir  highest.  Tliere  is  no  indication  in 
thenarrative  tiiat  any  one  who  thus  used  the  water  was  at 
once,  or  miraculously,  healed;  but  tlie  repeated  use  of  an 
intermittent  and  gaseous  spring— and  more  tlian  one  of 
the  springs  about  Jerusalem  continue  to  be  of  this  charac- 
ter to  the  present  day — was  doubtless  likely  to  produce 
most  beneficial  results. 

A  very  early  popular  legend,  which  has  crept  by  inter- 
polation intothe  text  of  St.  John,  attributed  the  healing 
qualities  of  the  water  to  the  descent  of  an  angel  wlio 
troubled  the  pool  at  irregular  intervals,  leaving  the  first 
persons  who  could  scramble  into  it  to  profit  by  the  immer- 
sion. This  solution  of  the  phenomenon  was  in  fact  so  en- 
tirely in  accordance  with  the  Semitic  habit  of  mind,  that, 
in  the  universal  ignorance  of  all  scientific  phenomena,  and 
the  utter  indifference  to  close  investigation  which  charac- 
terize most  Orientals,  the  populace  would  not  be  likely  to 
trouble  themselves  about  the  possibility  of  any  other  ex- 
planation. But  whatever  may  have  been  the  general  belief 
about  the  cause,  the  fact  that  the  water  was  found  at  cer- 
tain intervals  to  be  impregnated  with  gases  which  gave  it  a 
strengthening  property,  was  suflicient  to  attract  a  con- 
course of  many  sufferers. 

Among  these  was  one  poor  man  wlio,  for  no  less  than 
thirty-eight  years,  had  been  lamed  by  paralysis.  He  had 
haunted  the  porticoes  of  this  pool,  but  without  effect ;  for 
as  he  was  left  there  unaided,  and  as  the  motion  of  the 
water  occurred  at  irregular  times,  others  more  fortunate 
and  less  feeble  than  himself  managed  time  after  time  to 
struggle  in  before  him,  until  the  favorable  moment  had 
been  lost. 

Jesus  looked  on  the  man  with  heartfelt  pity.  It  was  ob- 
vious that  the  will  of  the  poor  destitute  creature  was  no  less 
stricken  with  paralysis  than  his  limbs,  and  his  whole  life 
was  one  long  atrophy  of  ineffectual  despair.  But  Jesus  was 
minded  to  make  His  Purim  present  to  the  poor,  to  whom 
He  had  neither  silver  nor  gold  to  give.  He  would  help  a 
fellow-sufferer,  whom  no  one  had  cared  or  condescended  to 
help  before. 

"  Wiliest  thou  to  be  made  whole?" 

At  first  the  words  hardly  stirred  the  man's  long  and 


200  TUK  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

despondent  letluirgy ;  lie  sc.ircely  seems  even  to  have 
looked  up.  But  thinking,  perhaps,  with  a  momentary 
gleam  of  hope,  that  this  was  some  stranger  who,  out  of 
kindness  of  heart,  might  help  him  into  the  water  when  it 
was  again  agitated,  he  merely  nnrratcd  in  reply  the  misery 
of  his  long  and  futile  expectation.  Jesus  had  intended  a 
speedier  and  more  effectual  aid. 

"  Rise,"  He  said,  "  take  thy  couch,  and  walk." 
It  was  spoken  in  an  accent  that  none  could  disobey.  Xlie 
manner  of  the  Speaker,  His  voice.  His  mandate,  thrilled 
like  an  electric  spai'k  through  the  witliered  limbs  and  the 
shattered  constitution,  enfeebled  by  a  lifetime  of  suffering 
and  sin.  After  thirty-eight  years  of  prostration,  the  man 
instantly  rose,  lifted  up  his  pallet  and  began  to  walk.  In 
glad  amazement  he  looked  round  to  see  and  to  thank  his 
nnknown  benefactor  ;  but  the  crowd  was  large,  and  Jesus, 
anxious  to  escape  the  unspiritual  excitement  which  would 
fain  have  regarded  Him  as  a  thaumaturge  alone,  had 
quietly  slipped  away  from  observation. 

In  spite  of  this,  many  scrupulous  and  jealous  eyes  were 
soon  upon  him.  In  pro})ortion  as  the  inner  power  and 
meaning  of  a  religion  are  dead,  in  that  proportion  very 
often  is  an  exaggerated  import  attached  to  its  outer  forms. 
Formalism  and  indifference,  pedantic  scru])ulosity  and  ab- 
solute disbelief,  are  correlative,  and  ever  flourish  side  by 
side.  It  was  so  with  Juda'ism  in  the  days  of  Christ.  Its 
living  and  burning  enthusiastii  was  quenched;  its  lofty  and 
noble  faith  had  died  away  ;  its  prophets  had  ceased  to 
prophesy  ;  its  poets  had  ceased  to  sing  ;  its  priests  were  no 
longer  clothed  with  righteousness  ;  its  saints  were  few. 
The  ax  was  at  the  root  of  the  barren  tree,  and  its  stem 
served  only  to  nourish  a  fungous  brood  of  ceremonials  and 
traditions, 

"  Death-like,  and  colored  like  a  corpse's  cheek." 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath,  which 
had  been  intended  to  secure  for  weary  men  a  rest  full  of 
love  and  peace  and  mercy,  had  become  a  mere  national 
Fetish — a  barren  custom  fenced  in  with  the  most  frivolous 
and  senseless  restrictions.  Well-nigh  every  great  provision 
of  the  Mosaic  law  had  now  been  degraded  into  a  mere 
superfluity  of  meaningless  minutiae,  the  delight  of  small 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  BETHESDA.  201 

natures,  and  the  grievous  incubus  of  all  true  and  natural 
pietv. 

Now,  when  a  religion  has  thus  d<3C!ayed  into  a  supersti- 
tion without  having  lost  its  external  power,  it  is  always 
more  than  ever  tyrannous  and  suspicious  in  its  hunting  for 
heresy.  The  healed  paralytic  was  soon  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  questioners.  They  looked  at  him  with  surprise 
and  indignation. 

"  It  is  the  Sabbath;  it  is  not  lawful  for  thee  to  carry  thy 
bed." 

Here  was  a  flagrant  case  of  violation  of  their  law  !  Had 
not  the  son  of  Shelomith,  though  half  an  Egyptian,  been 
stoned  to  death  for  gathering  sticks  on  the  Sabbsith 
day  ?  Had  not  the  prophet  Jeremiah  expressly  said, 
"Take  heed  to  yourselves,  and  bear  no  burden  on  the 
Sabbath  day." 

Yes  ;  but  why  ?  Because  the  Sabbath  was  an  ordinance 
of  mercy  intended  to  protect  the  underlings  and  the 
oppressed  from  a  life  of  incessant  toil ;  because  it  was 
essential  to  save  the  serfs  and  laborers  of  the  nation  from 
the  over-measure  of  labor  which  would  have  been  exacted 
from  them  in  a  nation  afflicted  with  the  besetting  sin  of 
greed  ;  because  tiie  setting  apart  of  one  day  in  seven  for 
sacred  rest  was  of  infinite  value  to  the  spiritual  life  of  all. 
That  was  the  meaning  of  the  Fourth  Commandment.  In 
what  respect  was  it  violated  by  the  fact  that  a  man  who 
liad  been  healed  by  a  miracle  wislied  to  cari'y  home  the 
mere  pallet  which  was  perhaps  almost  the  only  thing  that 
he  possessed  ?  What  the  man  really  violated  was  not  the 
law  of  God,  or  even  of  Moses,  but  the  wretched  formalistic 
inferences  of  their  frigid  tradition,  which  had  gravely  de- 
cided that  on  the  Sabbath  a  nailed  shoe  might  not  be 
worn  because  it  was  a  burden,  but  that  an  unnailed  shoe 
might  be  worn  ;  and  that  a  person  might  go  out  with  two 
shoes  on,  but  not  with  only  one;  and  tliat  one  man  might 
carry  a  loaf  of  bread,  but  that  two  men  might  not  carry 
it  between  them,  and  so  forth,  to  the  very  utmost  limit  of 
tyrannous  absurdity. 

"  He  tliat  made  me  whole,"  replied  the  man,  "  He  said 
to  me.  Take  up  thy  bed  and  walk." 

As  far  as   the  man   was   concerned,  they  accepted    the 
plea;  a  voice  fraught  with  miraculous  power  so  stupeu- 


202  THE  LTFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dous  that  it  could  heal  the  impotence  of  a  lifetime  by  a 
word,  was  clearly,  as  far  as  the  man  was  concerned, 
entitled  to  some  obedience.  And  the  fact  was  tlnit  they 
were  actuated  by  a  motive  ;  they  were  flying  at  higher 
game  tluin  this  insignificant  and  miserable  sufferer.  Noth- 
ing was  to  be  gained  by  worrying  liim. 

"  Who  is  it  that" — mark  the  malignity  of  these  Jewish 
authorities — not  that  inaile  thee  whole,  for  there  was  no 
heresy  to  be  hunted  out  in  the  mere  fact  of  exercising 
miraculous  power — but  "  that  gave  thee  the  wicked  com- 
mand to  take  up  thy  bed  and  walk  ?" 

So  little  apparently,  up  to  this  time,  was  the  person  of 
Jesus  generally  known  in  the  suburbs  of  Jerusalem,  or  else 
so  dull  and  languid  had  been  the  man's  attention  while 
Jesus  was  first  speaking  to  him,  that  he  actually  did  not 
know  who  his  benefactor  was.  But  he  ascertained  shortly 
afterward.  It  is  a  touch  of  grace  about  him  that  we  next 
find  him  in  the  Temple,  whither  he  may  well  have  gone  to 
return  thanks  to  God  for  this  sudden  and  marvelous  reno- 
vation of  his  wasted  life.  There,  too,  Jesus  saw  him,  and 
addressed  to  him  one  simple  memorable  warning,  "See, 
thou  hast  been  made  whole  :  continue  in  sin  no  longer, 
lest  sometliing  worse  happen  to  thee." 

Perhaps  the  warning  had  been  given  because  Christ  read 
the  mean  and  worthless  nature  of  the  man  ;  at  any  rate, 
there  is  something  at  first  sight  peculiarly  revolting  in  tlie 
lotb  verse.  "  The  man  we/if  and  told  the  Jewish  authori- 
ties that  it  was  Jesus  who  had  made  him  whole."  It  is 
barely  possible,  though  most  unlikely,  that  he  may  have 
meant  to  magnify  the  name  of  One  who  had  wrought  such 
a  mighty  work  ;  but  as  he  must  have  been  well  aware  of 
the  angry  feelings  of  the  Jews — as  we  hear  no  word  of  his 
gratitude  or  devotion,  no  word  of  amazement  or  glorify- 
ing God — as,  too,  it  must  have  been  abundantly  clear  to 
him  that  Jesus  in  working  the  miracle  had  been  touched 
by  compassion  only,  and  had  been  anxious  to  shun  all  pub- 
licity— it  must  be  confessed  that  the  jnima  facie  view  of 
the  man's  conduct  is  that  it  was  an  act  of  needless  and  con- 
temptible delation — a  piece  of  most  pitiful  self-protection 
at  the  expense  of  his  benefactor — an  almost  inconceivable 
compound  of  feeble  sycophancy  and  base  ingratitude. 
Apparently  the  warning   of  Jesus  had  been  most  deeply 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  BETHE8DA.  203 

necessary,  as,  if  we  judge  the  man  ariglit,  it  was  wholly 
unavailing. 

For  the  consequences  were  immediate  and  disastrous.' 
They  changed  in  fact  the  entire  tenor  of  His  remaining 
life.'  Untouched  by  the  evidence  of  a  most  tender  com- 
passion, unmoved  by  the  display  of  miraculous  power, 
the  Jewish  inquisitors  were  up  in  arms  to  defend  their 
favorite  piece  of  legalism.  "They  began  to  per  secnte  iem^ 
because  He  did  such  things  on  the  Sabbath  day." 

And  it  was  in  answer  to  this  charge  that  He  delivered 
the  divine  and  lofty  discourse  preserved  for  us  in  the  5th 
chapter  of  St.  John.  Whether  it  was  delivered  in  the 
Temple  or  before  some  committee  of  the  Sanhedrin,  we 
cannot  tell ;  but,  at  any  rate,  the  great  Eabbis  and  the 
Chief  Priests  who  summoned  Him  before  them,  that  they 
might  rebuke  and  punish  Him  for  a  breach  of  the  Sab- 
bath, were  amazed  and  awed,  if  also  they  were  bitterly  and 
implacably  infuriated,  by  the  words  they  heard.  They 
had  brought  Him  before  them  in  order  to  warn,  and  the 
warnings  fell  on  them.  They  had  wished  to  instruct  and 
reprove,  and  then,  perhaps,  condescendingly,  for  this  once, 
to  pardon  ;  and  lo  !  He  mingles  for  them  the  majesty  of 
instruction  with  the  severity  of  compassionate  rebuke. 
They  sat  round  Him  in  all  the  pomposities  of  their  office, 
to  overawe  Him  as  an  inferior,  and,  lol  they  tremble,  and 
gnash  their  teeth,  though  they  dare  not  act,  while  with 
words  like  a  flame  of  fire  piercing  into  the  very  joints  and 
marrow — with  words  more  full  of  wisdom  and  majesty 
than  those  which  came  amoug  the  thunders  of  Sinai — He 
assumes  the  awful  dignity  of  the  Son  of  God, 

And  so  the  attempt  to  impress  on  him  their  petty  rules 
and  literal  pietisms — to  lecture  him  on  the  heinousness  of 
working  miraculous  cures  on  the  Sabbath  day — perhaps  to 
punish  him  for  the  enormity  of  bidding  a  healed  man  take 
up  his  bed — was  a  total  failure.  With  his  very  first  word 
He  exposes  their  materialism  and  ignorance.  They,  in 
their  feebleness,  had  thought  of  the  Sabbath  as  though 
God  ceased  from  working  thereon  because  he  was  fatigued; 
He  tells  them  that  that  holy  rest  was  a  beneficent  activity. 
They  thought  apparently,  as  men  think  now,  that  God  had 
resigned  to  certain  mute  forces  His  creative  energy  ;  He 
tells   them    that  His   Father   is   working  still  ;  and  He, 


2C4  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIIUST. 

knowing  His  Father  and  loved  of  Him,  was  working  with 
Ilini,  and  shonld  do  greater  works  than  these  which  He  had 
now  done.  Ah'eady  was  He  qnickening  tlie  spiritually 
dead,  and  the  day  should  come  when  all  in  the  tombs 
should  hear  His  voice.  Already  He  was  bestowing  eternal 
life  on  all  that  believed  in  Him  ;  hereafter  shonld  His  voice 
be  heard  in  that  final  judgment  of  the  quick  and  the  dead 
which  the  Father  had  committed  into  His  hands. 

Was  He  merely  bearing  witness  of  Himself  ?  Nay,  there 
were  three  mighty  witnesses  who  had  testified,  and  were 
testifying,  of  Him — John,  whom,  after  a  brief  admiration, 
they  had  rejected  ;  Moses,  whom  they  boasted  of  following, 
and  did  not  understand  ;  God  Himself,  whom  they  pro- 
fessed to  worship,  but  had  never  seen  or  known.  They 
themselves  had  sent  to  John  and  heard  his  testimony  ;  but 
He  needed  not  the  testimony  of  man,  and  mentioned  it 
only  for  their  sakes,  because  even  they  for  a  time  had  been 
willing  to  exult  in  that  great  Pi'ophet's  God-enkindled 
light.  But  He  had  far  loftier  witness  than  tlmt  of  John — 
the  witness  of  a  miraculous  power,  exerted  not  as  prophets 
had  exerted  it,  in  the  name  of  God,  but  in  His  own  name, 
because  His  Father  had  given  such  Power  into  His  hand. 
That  father  they  knew  not.  His  light  they  had  abandoned 
for  the  darkness  ;  His  word  for  their  own  falsehoods  and 
ignorances,  and  they  had  rejected  Him  vvhom  He  had  sent. 
But  there  was  a  tliiril  testimony.  H  they  knew  nothing 
of  the  Father,  they  at  least  knew,  or  thought  they  knew, 
the  Scriptures  ;  the  Scriptures  were  in  their  hands  ;  they 
had  counted  the  very  letters  of  them  ;  yet  they  were  reject- 
ing Him  of  whom  the  Scriptures  testified.  Was  it  not 
clear  that  they — the  righteous,  the  pious,  the  scrupulous, 
the  separatists,  the  priests,  the  religious  leaders  of  their 
nation — yet  had  not  the  love  of  God  in  them,  if  they  thus 
rejected  His  prophet.  His  word.  His  works,  His  Son  ? 

And  what  was  the  fiber  of  bitterness  within  them  which 
produced  all  this  bitter  fruit?  Was  it  not  pride  ?  How 
could  they  believe,  who  sought  honor  of  one  another,  and 
not  the  honor  thiit  cometh  of  God  oidy?  Hence  it  was 
that  they  rejected  One  who  came  in  His  Father's  nanie, 
while  they  had  been,  and  should  be,  the  ready  dupes  and 
the  miserable  victims  of  every  false  Messiah,  of  every 
Judas,  and  Theudas,  and  Bar-Oochebas — and,  in  Jewish 


TMhJ  MIRACLE  OF  BETIlESDA.  205 

history,  there  were  more  thau  sixty  such — who  came  in  his 
own  name. 

And  yet  lie  would  not  accuse  them  to  the  Father;  they 
had  another  accuser,  even  Moses,  in  whom  they  trusted. 
Yes,  Moses,  in  whose  lightest  word  they  professed  to  trust 
— over  the  most  trivial  precept  of  whose  law  they  had 
piled  their  mountain  loads  of  tradition  and  commentary — 
even  him  they  were  disbelieving  and  disobeying.  Had 
they  believed  Moses,  they  would  liave  believed  Him  who 
spoke  to  them,  for  Moses  wrote  of  Him;,  but  if  they  thus 
rejected  the  true  meaning  of  the  written  words  {ypd^naiSiv) 
which  they  professed  to  adore  and  love,  how  could  they 
believe  the  spoken  words  {pt//.ia6iv)  to  which  they  were 
listening  with  rage  and  hate? 

We  know  with  what  deadly  exasperation  these  high 
utterances  were  received.  Never  before  had  the  Christ 
spoken  so  plainly.  It  seemed  as  though  in  Galilee  He  had 
wished  the  truth  respecting  Him  to  rise  like  a  gradual  and 
glorious  dawn  upon  the  souls  and  understandings  of  those 
who  heard  His  teaching  and  watched  His  works;  but  as 
though  at  Jerusalem — where  His  ministry  was  briefer,  and 
His  followers  fewer,  and  His  opponents  stronger,  and  His 
mighty  works  more  rare — He  had  determined  to  leave  the 
leaders  and  rulers  of  the  people  without  excuse,  by  reveal- 
ing at  once  to  their  astonished  ears  the  nature  of  His 
being.  More  distinctly  than  this  He  could  not  have 
spoken.  They  had  summoned  Him  before  them  to  explain 
His  breach  of  the  Sabbath;  so  far  from  excusing  the  act 
itself,  as  He  sometimes  did  in  Galilee,  by  showing  that 
the  higher  and  moral  law  of  love  supersedes  and  annihi- 
lates the  lower  law  of  mere  literal  and  ceremonial  obedience 
— instead  of  showing  that  He  had  but  acted  in  the  spirit 
in  which  the  greatest  of  saints  had  acted  before  Him,  and 
the  greatest  of  prophets  taught — He  sets  Himself  wholly 
above  the  Sabbath,  as  its  Lord,  nay,  even  as  the  Son  and 
Interpreter  of  Him  who  had  made  the  S:i.bbath,  and  who 
in  all  the  mighty  course  of  Nature  and  of  Providence  was 
continuing  to  work  thereon. 

Here,  then,  were  two  deadly  charges  ready  at  hand 
against  this  Prophet  of  Nazaretii  :  He  was  a  bieaker  of 
their  Sabbath;  He  was  a  blasphemer  of  their  God.  The 
first  crime  was  sufficient  cause  for  opposition  and  perse- 


;^06  TltE  LIFE  OF  GilRlSf. 

cution;  the  secoiul  an  {im])le  justification  of  persistent  and 
active  endeavors  to  bring  about  His  death. 

But  at  present  they  couhl  do  notliing;  tliey  could  only 
rage  in  impotent  indignation;  they  could  only  gnash  with 
their  teeth  and  melt  away.  Whatever  may  have  been  the 
cause,  as  yet  they  dared  not  act,  A  power  greater  than 
their  own  restrained  them.  The  hour  of  their  triumph 
was  not  yet  come;  only,  from  this  moment,  tliere  went 
forth  against  Him  from  the  hearts  of  those  Priests  and 
Rabbis  and  Pharisees  the  inexorable  irrevocable  sentence 
of  violent  death. 

And  under  such  circumstances  it  was  useless,  and  worse 
than  useless,  for  Him  to  remain  in  Jud?ea,  where  every  day 
was  a  day  of  peril  from  these  angry  and  powerful  con- 
spirators. He  could  no  longer  remain  in  Jerusalem  for 
the  approaching  Passover,  but  must  return  to  Galilee;  but 
He  returned  with  a  clear  vision  of  the  fatal  end,  with  full 
knowledge  that  the  hours  of  light  in  which  He  could  still 
work  were  already  fading  into  the  dusk,  and  that  the  rest 
of  His  work  would  be  accomplished  with  the  secret  sense 
that  death  was  hanging  over  His  devoted  head. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE   MUEDER   OF   JOHN   THE   BAPTIST. 

It  must  have  been  with  His  human  heart  full  of  fore- 
boding sadness  that  the  Saviour  returned  to  Galilee,  In 
His  own  obscure  Nazareth  He  had  before  been  violently 
rejected;  He  had  now  been  rejected  no  less  decisively  at 
Jerusalem  by  the  leading  authorities  of  His  own  nation. 
He  was  returning  to  an  atmosphere  already  darkened  by 
the  storm-clouds  of  gathering  opposition  ;  and  He  had 
scarcely  returned  when  upon  that  atmosphere,  like  the  first 
note  of  a  death-knell  tolling  ruin,  there  broke  the  intelli- 
gence of  a  dreadful  martyrdom.  The  heaven-enkindled 
and  shining  lamp  had  suddenly  been  quenched  in  blood. 
The  great  Forerunner — He  who  was  greatest  of  those  born 
of  women — the  Prophet,  and  more  than  a  prophet,  had 
been  foully  murdered. 

Herod  Antipas,  to  whom,  on  the  death  of  Herod  the 


THE  MURDER  OF  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST.  ^Ot 

Grout,  luul  fiillen  the  tetrarchy  of  Galilee,  was  about  as 
weak  and  miserable  a  prince  as  ever  disgraced  the  throne 
of  an  afflicted  country.  Cruel,  crafty  and  voluptuous  like 
his  father,  he  was  also,  unlike  hiui,  weak  in  war  and 
vacillating  in  peace.  In  hiui,  as  in  so  many  characters 
which  stand  conspicuous  on  the  stage  of  history,  infidelity 
and  superstition  went  hand  in  hand.  But  the  morbid 
terrors  of  a  guilty  conscience  did  not  save  him  from  the 
criminal  extravagances  of  a  violent  will.  He  was  a  man 
in  whom  were  mingled  the  worst  features  of  the  Roman, 
the  Oriental,  and  the  Gi'eek. 

It  was  the  policy  of  the  numerous  princelings  who  owed 
their  very  existence  to  Roman  intervention,  to  j^ay  fre- 
quent visits  of  ceremony  to  the  Emperor  at  Rome.  During 
one  of  these  visits,  possibly  to  condole  with  Tiberius  on 
the  death  of  his  son  Drusus,  or  his  mother  Livia,  Antipas 
had  been,  while  at  Rome,  the  guest  of  his  brother  Herod 
Philip — not  the  tetrarcli  of  that  name,  but  a  son  of  Herod 
the  Great  and  Mariamne,  daughter  of  Simon  the  Boe- 
thusian,  who,  having  been  disinherited  by  his  father,  was 
living  at  Rome  as  a  private  person.  Here  he  became  en- 
tangled by  the  snares  of  Herodias,  his  brother  Philip's 
wife;  and  he  repaid  the  hospitality  he  had  received  by 
carrying  her  off.  Everything  combined  to  make  the  act 
as  detestable  as  it  was  ungrateful  and  treacherous.  The 
Herods  carried  intermarriage  to  an  extent  which  only 
prevailed  in  the  worst  and  most  dissolute  of  the  Oriental 
and  post-Macedonian  dynasties.  Herodias  being  the 
daughter  of  Aristobulus,  was  not  only  the  sister-in-law, 
but  also  the  niece  of  Antipas  ;  she  had  already  borne  to 
her  husband  a  daughter,  who  was  now  grown  up.  An- 
tii)as  had  himself  long  been  married  to  the  daughter  of 
Aretas,  or  Hareth,  Emir  of  Arabia,  and  neither  he  nor 
Herodias  were  young  enough  to  plead  even  the  poor  excuse 
of  youthful  passion.  The  sole  temptation  on  his  side  was 
an  impotent  sensuality;  on  hers  an  extravagant  ambition. 
She  preferred  a  marriage  doubly  adulterous  and  doubly 
incestuous  to  a  life  spent  with  the  only  Herod  who  could 
not  boast  even  the  fraction  of  a  vice-regal  throne.  Antipas 
promised  on  his  return  from  Rome  to  make  her  his  wife, 
and  she  exacted  from  liim  a  pledge  that  he  would  divorce 
his  innocent  consort,  tiie  daughter  of  the  Arabian  prince. 


20S  THE  LTFE  OF  CIIUIST. 

But  ''our  plccisimt  vices,"  it  has  well  been  said,  ''are 
made  tiie  iuslrumeiits  to  j'lmisli  us;''  and  from  this  moment 
began  for  Herod  Antipas  a  sei'ies  of  annoyances  and  mis- 
fortunes, wliicih  only  culminated  in  his  death  years  afterward 
in  discrowned  royalty  and  unpitied  exile.  llerodias 
became  from  the  "first  the  evil  genius  of  his  house.  The 
people  were  scandalized  and  outraged.  Family  dissensions 
were  embittered.  The  Arabian  princess,  without  waiting 
to  be  divorced,  indignantly  fled,  first  to  the  border  castle 
of  Machffirus,  and  then  to  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  her 
father  Hareth  at  Petra.  He,  in  his  just  indignation, 
broke  off  all  amicable  relations  with  his  quondam  son-in- 
law,  and  subsequently  declared  war  against  him,  in  which 
he  avenged  himself  by  the  infliction  of  a  severe  and 
ruinous  defeat. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Sin  was  punished  with  sin,  and  the 
adulterous  union  had  to  be  cemented  with  a  prophet's 
blood.  In  the  gay  and  gilded  halls  of  any  one  of  those 
sumptuous  palaces  which  the  Herods  delighted  to  build, 
the  dissolute  tyrant  may  have  succeeded  perhaps  in 
shutting  out  the  deep  murmur  of  his  subjects' indignation  ; 
but  there  was  one  voice  which  reached  him,  and  agitated 
his  conscience,  and  would  not  be  silenced.  It  was  the  voice 
of  the  great  Baptist.  How  Herod  had  been  thrown  first 
into  connection  with  him  we  do  not  know,  but  it  was 
probably  after  he  had  seized  possession  of  his  person  on 
the  political  plea  that  his  teaching,  and  the  crowds  who 
flocked  to  him,  tended  to  endanger  the  public  safety. 
Among  other  features  in  the  character  of  Herod  was  a 
certain  superstitious  curiosity  which  led  him  to  hanker 
after  and  tamper  with  the  truths  of  the  religion  which  his 
daily  life  so  flagrantly  violated.  He  summoned  John  to 
his  presence.  Like  a  new  Elijah  before  another  Ahab — 
clotlied  in  his  desert  raiment,  the  hairy  cloak  and  the 
leathern  girdle — the  stern  and  noble  eremite  stood  fearless 
before  tlie  incestuous  king.  His  words — the  simple  words 
of  truth  and  justice — the  calm  reasonings  about  right- 
eousness, temperance,  and  the  judgment  to  come — fell  like 
flakes  of  fire  on  that  hard  and  icy  conscience.  Herod, 
alarmed  perhaps  by  the  fulfillment  of  the  old  curse  of  the 
Mosaic  law  in  the  childlessness  of  his  union,  listened  with 
some  dim   and  feeble    hope  of    future   amendment.     He 


THE  MURDER  OF  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST.  209 

even  did  tiiauy  things  gladly  because  of  John.  But  there 
was  one  thing  which  he  would  not  do — perhaps  persuaded 
himself  that  he  could  not  do — and  that  was,  give  up  the 
guilty  love  which  mastered  him,  or  dismiss  the  haughty, 
imperious  woman  who  ruled  his  life  after  ruining  his 
peace.  "It  is  not  lawful  for  thee  to  have  thy  brother's 
wife'"'  was  the  blunt  declaration  of  the  dauntless  Prophet; 
and  though  time  after  time  he  might  be  led  over  those 
splendid  floors,  pale  and  wasted  with  imprisonment  and 
disappointed  hope,  yet,  though  he  well  knew  that  it 
kindled  against  him  an  implacable  enmity  and  doomed 
him  to  a  fresh  remand  to  his  solitary  cell,  he  never 
hesitated  to  face  the  flushed  and  angry  Herod  with  that 
great  Non  licet.  Nor  did  he  spare  his  stern  judgment  on 
all  the  other  crimes  and  follies  of  Herod's  life.  Other 
men — even  men  otherwise  great  and  good — have  had  very 
smooth  words  for  the  sins  of  princes;  but  in  the  fiery  soul 
of  the  Baptist,  strengthened  into  noblest  exercise  by  the 
long  asceticism  of  the  wilderness,  there  was  no  dread  of 
human  royalt}'^  and  no  compromise  with  exalted  sin.  And 
when  courage  and  holiness  and  purity  thus  stood  to  rebuke 
the  lustful  meanness  of  a  servile  and  corrupted  soul,  can 
we  wonder  if  even  among  his  glittering  courtiers  and  reck- 
less men-at-artns  the  king  cowered  conscience-stricken 
before  the  fettered  prisoner  ?  But  John  knew  how  little 
trust  can  be  placed  in  a  soul  that  has  been  eaten  away  by 
a  besetting  sin  ;  and  since  He  to  whom  he  had  borne  wit- 
ness beyond  Jordan  wrought  no  miracle  of  power  for  his 
deliverance,  it  is  not  probable  that  he  looked  for  any 
jDassage  out  of  his  dungeon  in  the  Black  Fortress,  save 
through  the  grave  and  gate  of  death. 

Hitherto,  indeed,  the  timidity  or  the  scruples  of  Herod 
Antipas  had  afforded  to  John — so  far  as  his  mere  life  was 
concerned — a  precarious  protection  from  the  concentrated 
venom  of  an  adulteress'  liate.  But  at  last  what  she  had 
failed  to  gain  by  passionate  influence  she  succeeded  in 
gaining  by  subtle  fraud.  She  knew  well  that  even  from 
his  prison  the  voice  of  John  miglit  be  more  powerful  than 
all  the  influences  of  lier  fading  beauty,  and  might  succeed 
at  last  in  tearing  from  lier  forehead  that  guilty  crown. 
But  she  watched  her  opportunity,  and  was  not  long  in 
gaining  her  end. 


2 1 0  THE  LIFE  0  F  CIIRT8T. 

The  Herodian  princes,  imitating  tlie  luxurious  example 
of  their  great  prototypes,  tlie  Roman  emperors,  were  fond 
of  magnificent  banquets  and  splendid  anniversaries. 
Among  others  they  had  adopted  the  heathen  fashion  of 
birthday  celebrations,  and  Antipas  on  his  birthday — appar- 
ently either  at  Machserus  or  at  a  neighboring  palace  called 
Julias — prepared  a  banquet  for  his  courtiers,  and  generals, 
and  Galilaean  nobles.  The  wealth  of  the  Herods,  the 
expensive  architecture  of  their  numerous  palaces,  their 
universal  tendency  to  extravagant  display,  make  it  certain 
that  nothing  would  be  wanting  to  such  a  banquet  which 
wealth  or  royalty  could  procure  ;  and  there  is  enough  to 
show  that  it  was  on  the  model  of  those 

"  Sumptuous  gluttonies  and  gorgeous  feasts 
On  citron  table  or  Atlantic  stone," 

which  accorded  with  the  depraved  fashion  of  the  Empire, 
and  mingled  Roman  gormandize  with  Ionic  sensuality. 
But  Herodias  had  craftily  provided  the  king  with  an  unex- 
pected and  exciting  pleasure,  the  spectacle  of  which  would 
he  sure  to  enrapture  such  guests  as  his.  Dancers  and 
dancing-women  were  at  tliat  time  in  great  request.  The 
passion  for  witnessing  these  too  often  indecent  and  degrad- 
ing representations  had  naturally  made  its  way  into  the 
Sadducean  and  semi -pagan  court  of  these  usurping 
Edomites,  and  Herod  the  Great  had  built  in  his  palace  a 
theater  for  the  Thymelici.  A  luxurious  feast  of  the  period 
was  not  regarded  as  complete  unless  it  closed  with  some 
gross  pantomimic  representation;  and  doubtless  Herod  had 
adopted  the  evil  fashion  of  liis  day.  But  he  had  not  an- 
ticipated for  his  guests  the  rare  luxury  of  seeing  a  princess 
— his  own  niece,  a  granddaughter  of  Herod  the  Great  and 
of  Mariamne,  a  descendant  therefore  of  Simon  the  High 
Priest,  and  the  great  line  of  Maccaba^an  princes — a  prin- 
cess who  afterward  became  the  wife  of  a  tetrarch,  and  the 
mother  of  a  king — honoring  them  by  degrading  herself 
into  a  scenic  dancer.  And  yet  when  the  banquet  was  over, 
when  the  guests  were  full  of  meat  and  flushed  with  wine. 
Salome  herself,  the  daughter  of  Herodias,  then  in  the 
prime  of  her  young  and  lustrous  beauty,  executed,  as  it 
would  now  be  expressed,  a^ja*-  seul  "■  in  the  midst  of  "  those 


THE  MURDER  OF  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST.  211 

dissolute  and  half-iutoxicated  revellers.  "She  came  in 
and  danced,  and  pleased  Herod,  and  them  that  sat  at  meat 
with  him."  And  he,  like  another  Xerxes,  in  the  delirium 
of  his  drunken  approval,  swore  to  this  degraded  girl  in  the 
presence  of  his  guests  that  he  wouUl  give  her  anything  for 
which  she  asked,  even  to  the  half  of  his  kingdom. 

The  girl  flew  to  her  mother,  and  said,  "  What  shall  I 
ask?"  It  was  exactly  what  Herodias  expected,  and  she 
might  have  asked  for  rohes,  or  jewels,  or  palaces,  or  what- 
ever such  a  woman  loves;  but  to  a  mind  like  hers  revenge 
was  sweeter  than  wealth  or  pride,  and  we  may  imagine 
with  what  fierce  malice  she  hissed  out  the  unhesitating 
answer,  "  The  head  of  John  the  Baptist."  And  coming 
in  before  the  king  immediately  with  Jtaste— (what  a  touch 
is  that!  and  how  apt  a  pupil  did  the  wicked  mother  find 
in  her  wicked  daughter) — Salome  exclaimed,  "  My  wish  is 
■  that  vou  give  me  here,  immediately,  on  a  dish,  the  head  of 
John' the  Baptist."  Her  indecent  haste,  her  hideous  peti- 
tion, show  that  she  shared  the  furies  of  her  race.  Did  she 
think  that  in  that  infamous  poriod,  and  among  those  infa- 
mous guests,  her  petition  would  be  received  with  a  burst 
of  laughter?  Did  she  hope  to  kindle  their  merriment  to  a 
still  higlier  pitch  by  the  sense  of  the  delightful  wickeclness 
involved  in  a  young  and  beautiful  girl,  asking — nay,  impe- 
riously demanding — that  then  and  there,  on  one  of  the 
golden  dishes  which  graced  the  board,  should  be  given  into 
her  own  hands  the  gory  head  of  the  Prophet  whose  words 
had  made  a  thousand  bold  hearts  quail? 

If  so,  she  was  disappointed.  The  tetrarch,  at  any  rate, 
Avas  plunged  into  grief  by  her  request;  it  more  than  did 
away  with  the  pleasure  of"^her  disgraceful  dance:  it  was  a 
bitter  termination  of  his  birthday  feast.  Fear,  policy, 
remorse,  superstition,  even  whatever  poor  spark  of  better 
feeling  remained  unquenched  under  the  dense  white  ashes 
of  a  heart  consumed  by  evil  passions,  all  made  him  shrink 
in  disgust  from  tliis  sudden  execution.  He  must  have  felt 
that  he  had  been  egregiously  duped  out  of  his  own  will  by 
the  cunning  stratagem  of  his  unrelenting  paramour.  If  a 
single  toucli  of  manliness  had  been  left  in  him  he  would 
have  repudiated  the  request  as  one  which  did  not  fall  either 
under  the  letter  or  the  spirit  of  his  oath,  since  the  life  of 
one  cannot  be  made  the^gift  to  another:  or  he  would  have 


212  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRIST. 

boldly  declared  iit  once,  tluit  if  such  was  her  choice,  his 
oath  was  more  honored  by  being  broken  than  by  being 
kept.  But  a  despicable  pride  and  fear  of  man  ])revailed 
over  his  better  impulses.  More  afraid  of  the  criticisms  of 
his  guests  than  of  the  future  torment  of  such  conscience  as 
was  left  him,  he  immediately  sent  an  executioner  to  the 
prison,  wliich  in  all  probability  was  not  far  from  the  ban- 
queting hall;  and  so,  at  the  bidding  of  a  dissolute  coward, 
and  to  please  the  loathly  fancies  of  a  shameless  girl,  the 
ax  fell,  and  the  head  of  the  noblest  of  the  prophets  was 
shorn  away. 

In  darkness  and  in  secrecy  the  scene  was  enacted,  and  if 
any  saw  it  their  lips  were  sealed  ;  but  the  executioner 
emerged  into  the  light  carrying  by  the  hair  that  noble 
head,  and  then  and  there,  in  all  the  ghastliness  of  recent 
death,  it  was  placed  upon  a  dish  from  the  royal  table.  The 
young  dancing  girl  received  it,  and,  now  frightful  as  a 
MegJBra,  carried  the  hideous  burden  to  her  mother.  Let 
us  hope  that  the  awful  spectacle  haunted  the  souls  of  both 
thenceforth  till  death. 

What  became  of  that  ghastly  relic  we  do  not  know. 
Tradition  tells  us  that  Herodias  ordered  the  headless  trunk 
to  be  flung  out  over  the  battlements  for  dogs  and  vultures 
to  devour.     On  her,  at  any  rate,  swift  vengeance  fell. 

The  disciples  of  John — perhaps  Manaen  the  Essene,  the 
foster-brother  of  Herod  Antipas,  may  have  been  among 
them — took  up  the  corpse  and  buried  it.  Their  next  care 
was  to  go  and  tell  Jesus,  some  of  them,  it  may  be,  with 
sore  and  bitter  hearts,  that  his  friend  and  forerunner — the 
first  who  had  borne  witness  to  Him,  and  over  whom  He 
had  Himself  pronounced  so  great  an  eulogy — was  dead. 

And  about  the  same  time  His  Apostles  also  returned 
from  their  mission,  and  told  Him  all  that  they  had  done 
and  taught.  They  had  preached  repentance;  they  had 
cast  out  devils;  they  had  anointed  the  sick  with  oil  and 
healed  them.  But  the  record  of  their  ministry  is  very 
brief,  and  not  very  joyous.  In  spite  of  partial  successes,  it 
seemed  as  if  their  untried  faith  had  as  yet  proved  inade- 
quate for  the  high  task  imposed  on  them. 

And  very  shortly  afterward  another  piece  of  intelligence 
reached  Jesus;  it  was  that  the  murderous  tetrarch  was  in- 
quiring about  Him  ;  wished  to  see  Him ;  perhaps  would 


THE  MURDER  OF  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST.  213 

send  and  demand  His  presence  when  he  returned  to  his 
new  palace,  the  Golden  House  of  his  new  capital  at  Tiber- 
ias. For  the  mission  of  the  Twelve  had  tended  more  than 
ever  to  spread  a  rumor  of  Him  among  the  people,  and 
speculation  respecting  Him  was  rife.  All  admitted  that 
He  had  some  high  claim  to  attention.  Some  tliought  that 
He  was  Elijah,  some  Jeremiah,  others  one  of  the  Prophets; 
but  Herod  had  the  most  singular  solution  of  the  problem. 
It  is  said  that  when  Theodoric  had  ordered  the  murder  of 
Symmachus,  he  was  haunted  and  finally  maddened  by  the 
phantom  of  the  old  man's  distorted  features  glaring  at  him 
from  a  dish  on  the  table  ;  nor  can  it  have  been  otherwise 
with  Herod  Antipas.  Into  his  banquet  hall  had  been 
brought  the  head  of  one  whom,  in  the  depth  of  his  inmost 
being,  he  felt  to  have  been  holy  and  just  :  and  he  had 
seen,  with  the  solemn  agony  of  death  still  resting  on 
them,  the  stern  features  on  which  he  had  often  gazed  with 
awe.  Did  no  reproach  issue  from  those  dead  lips  yet 
louder  and  more  terrible  than  they  had  spoken  in  life  ? 
were  the  accents  which  had  uttered,  "It  is  not  lawful  for 
thee  to  have  her,"  frozen  into  silence,  or  did  they  seem  to 
issue  with  supernatural  energy  from  the  mute  ghastliness 
of  death?  If  we  mistake  not,  that  dissevered  head  was 
rarely  thenceforth  absent  from  Herod's  haunted  imagina- 
tion from  that  day  forward  till  he  lay  upon  his  dying  bed. 
And  now,  when  but  a  brief  time  afterward,  he  heard  of  the 
fame  of  another  Prophet — of  a  Prophet  transcendently 
mightier,  and  one  who  wrought  miracles,  which  John  had 
never  done — his  guilty  conscience  shivered  with  supersti- 
tious dread,  and  to  his  intimates  he  began  to  whisper  with 
horror,  "  Tliis  is  John  the  Baptist  whom  I  beheaded:  he  is 
risen  from  the  dead,  and  therefore  these  mighty  works  are 
Avrought  by  him."  Had  John  sprung  to  life  again  thus 
suddenly  to  inflict  a  signal  vengeance  ?  would  he  come  to 
the  strong  towers  of  Machferus  at  the  head  of  a  multitude 
in  wild  revolt  ?  or  glide  through  the  gilded  halls  of  Julias 
or  Tiberias,  terrible,  at  midnight,  with  ghostly  tread  ? 
'•'Hast  thou  found  me,  0  mine  enemy?" 

As  the  imperious  and  violent  temper  of  Herodias  was 
the  constant  scourge  of  her  husband's  peace,  so  her  mad 
ambition  was  subsequently  the  direct  cause  of  his  ruin. 
When  the  Emperor  ('aius  (('aligula)  began  to  heap  favors 


214  THE  LIFE  OF  VUIilST. 

on  Herod  Agrippa  I,  Herodias,  sick  with  envy  and  discon- 
tent, urged  Antipas  to  sail  with  her  to  Rome  and  procure 
a  share  of  the  distinction  which  had  thus  been  given  to 
lier  brother.  Above  all,  she  was  anxious  that  her  husband 
should  obtain  the  title  of  king,  instead  of  continuing  con- 
tent with  the  humbler  one  of  tetrarch.  In  vain  did  the 
timid  and  ease-loving  Antipas  point  out  to  her  the  danger 
to  whicli  he  might  be  exposed  by  such  a  request.  She 
made  his  life  so  bitter  to  him  by  her  importunity  that, 
against  his  better  judgment,  he  was  forced  to  yield.  The 
event  justified  his  worst  misgivings.  No  love  reigned  be- 
tween the  numerous  uncles  and  nephews  and  half-brothers 
in  the  tangled  family  of  Ilerod,  and  either  out  of  policy 
or  jealousy  Agrippa  not  only  discountenanced  the  schemes 
of  his  sister  and  uncle — though  they  had  helped  him  in  his 
own  misfortunes — but  actually  sent  his  freedman  Fortu- 
natus  to  Rome  to  accuse  Antipas  of  treasonable  designs. 
The  tetrarch  failed  to  clear  himself  of  the  charge,  and  in 
A.  D.  39  was  banished  to  Lugdunum — probably  St.  Ber- 
trand  de  Comminges,  in  Gaul,  not  far  from  the  Spanish 
frontier.  Herodias,  either  from  choice  or  necessity  or 
despair,  accompanied  his  exile,  and  here  they  both  died  in 
obscurity  and  dishonor.  Salome,  the  dancer — the  Lucretia 
Borgia  of  tlie  Herodian  house — disappears  henceforth  from 
history.  Tradition  or  legend  alone  informs  us  that  she 
met  with  an  early,  violent  and  hideous  death. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    FEEDING    OF    THE    FIVE    THOUSAND,    AND    WALKING 
ON    THE   SEA. 

The  Feeding  of  the  Five  Thousand  is  one  of  the  few 
miracles  during  the  ministry  of  Christ  which  are  narrated 
to  us  by  all  four  of  the  Evangelists ;  and  as  it  is  placed  by 
St.  John  after  the  nameless  festival  and  just  before  a  Pass- 
over, and  by  the  Synoptists  in  immediate  connection  with 
the  return  of  the  Twelve  and  the  execution  of  tiie  Baptist, 
we  can  hardly  err  in  introducing  it  at  this  point  of  our 
narrative. 

'J'he  novel  journeyings  of  the  Apostles,  the  agitation  of 


FEEDING  OF  THE  FIVE  THOUSAND.  215 

His  own  recent  conflicts,  the  burden  of  that  dread  intelli- 
gence which  had  just  reached  Him,  the  constant  pressure 
of  a  fluctuating  multitude  which  absorbed  all  their  time, 
once  more  rendered  it  necessary  tliat  the  little  company 
should  recover  the  tone  and  bloom  of  their  spirits  by  a  1  rief 
period  of  rest  and  solitude.  "  Come  ye  yourselves,"  He 
said,  ''apart  into  a  desert  place,  and  rest  a  while." 

At  the  nortli-eastern  corner  of  the  Lake,  a  little  beyond 
the  point  where  the  Jordan  enters  it,  was  a  second  Beth- 
saida,  or  "  Fish-house,"  once,  like  its  western  namesake,  a 
small   village,    but   recently    enlarged    and    beautified    by 
Philip,  tetrarch  of  Iturtea,  and  called,  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
tinction, Bethsaida  Julias.     Tlie  second  name   had  been 
given  it   in    honor  of   Julia,  the  beautiful  but   infamous 
daughter  of  the  Emperor  Augustus.     These  half-heathen 
Herodian  cities,   with   their  imitative  Greek  architecture 
and  adulatory  Roman  names,  seem  to  have  repelled  rather 
than  attracted   the  feet  of  Christ ;  and  though   mnch  of 
His  work  was  accomplished  in  the  neighborhood  of  con- 
siderable cities,   we  know  of  no  city  except  Jerusalem  in 
which  He  ever  taught.     But  to  the  south  of  Bethsaida 
Julias  was  the  green  and  narrow  plain  of   El   Batihab, 
which,  like  the  hills  that  close  it  round,  was  uninhabited 
then    as   now.     Hitherward    the   little   vessel   steered    its 
course,   with    its   freight   of   weary  and   saddened    hearts 
which    sought    repose.      But    private   as    the    departure 
had   been,  it   had    not   passed    unobserved,  and   did    not 
remain  unknown.     It  is  but  six  miles  by  sea  from  Caper- 
naum to  the  retired  and  desolate  shore  which  was  their 
destination.     The  little  vessel,  evidently  retarded  by  un- 
favorable winds,  made  its  way  slowly  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  shore,  and  by  the  time  it  reached  its  destination, 
the  object  which  their  Master's  kindness  had  desired  for 
His   Apostles  was    completely  frustrated.      Some  of   the 
multitude  had  already  outrun  the  vessel,  and  were  throng- 
ing about  the  landing-place  when   the  prow  touched   the 
pebbly  shore  ;  while  in  the  distance  were  seen   the  throng- 
ing groups  of  Passover  pilgrims,  who  were  attracted  out 
of  their  course  by  the  increasing  celebrity  of  this  Unknown 
Prophet.     Jesus  was   touched  with  compassion   for  them, 
because   they  were  as  sheep  not  having  a  shepherd.     AVe 
may  conjecture   from  St.  John   that  on  reaching  the  land 


2  j  6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lie  and  His  disciples  climbed  the  hill-side,  and  there 
Avaited  a  sliort  time  till  the  whole  multitude  had  assembled. 
Then  descending  among  them  He  taught  them  many 
things,  pi-eaching  to  them  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and 
healing  their  sick. 

The"  day  wore  on  ;  already  the  sun  was  sinking  toward 
the  western  hills,  yet  still  the  multitude  lingered,  charmed 
by  that  healing  voice  and  by  those  holy  words.  The 
evening  would  soon  come,  and  after  the  brief  Oriental 
twilight,  the  wandering  crowd,  who  in  their  excitement 
had  neglected  even  the  necessities  of  life,  would  find  tiiem- 
selves  in  the  darkness,  hungry  and  afar  from  every  hunuin 
habitation.  The  disciples  began  to  be  anxious  lest  tlie  diiy 
should  end  in  some  unhappy  catastrophe,  which  would 
give  a  fresh  handle  to  the  already  embittered  enemies  of 
their  Lord.  But  His  compassion  had  already  forestalled 
their  considerate  anxiety,  and  had  suggested  the  difficulty 
to  the  mind  of  Philip.  A  little  consultation  took  place. 
To  buy  even  a  mouthful  apiece  for  such  a  multitude 
would  require  at  least  two  hundred  denarii  (more  than 
£7) ;  and  even  supposing  that  they 'possessed  such  a  eum 
in  their  common  purse,  there  was  now  neither  time  nor 
opportunity  to  make  the  necessary  purchases.  Andrew 
heseupon  mentioned  that  there  was  a  little  boy  there  who 
had  five  barley-loaves  and  two  small  fishes,  but  he  only 
said  it  in  a  despairing  way,  and,  as  it  were,  to  show  the 
utter  helplessness  of  the  only  suggestion  which  occurred 
to  him. 

*'•'  Make  the  men  sit  down,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

Wondering  and  exj)ectaut,  the  Apostles  bade  the  multi- 
tude recline,  as  for  a  meal,  on  the  rich  green  grass  which 
in  tliat  pleasant  spring-time  clothed  the  hill-sides.  They 
arranged  them  in  companies  of  fifty  and  a  hundred,  and 
as  they  sat  in  these  orderly  groups  upon  the  grass,  the  gay 
red  and  blue  and  yellow  colors  of  the  clothing  which  tlie 
})oorest  Orientals  wear,  called  up  in  the  imagination  of  St. 
Peter  a  multitude  of  flower-beds  in  some  well-cultivated 
garden.  And  then,  standing  in  the  midst  of  His  guests — 
glad-hearted  at  the  work  of  mercy  which  he  intended  to 
])erform — Jesus  raised  His  eyes  to  heaven,  gave  thanks, 
i)lcssed  the  loaves,  broke  them  into  pieces,  and  began 
to  distribute  them  to  His  disciples,  and  they  to  the  nuilti-' 


FEEDING  OF  THE  FIVE  THOUSAND.  217 

tude;  and  the  two  fishes  he  divided  among  them  all.  Iff 
was  a  humble  but  a  sufficient,  and  to  hungry  wayfarers  a 
delicious  meal.  And  when  all  were  abundantly  satisfied, 
Jesus,  not  only  to  show  His  disciples  the  extent  and  reality  of 
what  had  been  done,  but  also  to  teach  them  the  memorable 
lesson  that  wastefulness,  even  of  miraculous  power,  is 
wholly  alien  to  the  Divine  economy,  bade  them  gather  up 
the  fragments  that  remained,  that  nothing  might  be  lost. 
The  symmeti-ical  arrangement  of  the  multitude  showed 
that  about  five  thousand  men,  besides  women  and  children, 
had  been  fed,  and  yet  twelve  baskets  were  filled  with  what 
was  over  and  above  to  them  that  had  eaten. 

The  miracle  produced  a  profound  impression.  It  was 
exactly  in  accordance  with  the  current  expectation,  and 
the  multitude  began  to  whisper  to  each  other  that  this 
must  undoubtedly  be  ''  that  Prophet  which  should  come 
into  the  world ;"  tlie  Shiloh  of  Jacob's  blessing ;  the  Star 
and  the  Scepter  of  Balaam's  vision;  the  Prophet  like  unto 
Moses  to  whom  they  were  to  hearken  ;  perhaps  the  Elijah 
l)romised  by  the  dying  breath  of  ancient  prophecy  ;  per- 
haps the  Jeremiah  of  their  tradition,  come  back  to  reveal 
the  hiding-place  of  the  Ark,  and  the  Urim,  and  the  sacred 
fire.  Jesus  marked  their  undisguised  admiration,  and  the 
danger  that  their  enthusiasm  might  brake  out  by  force, 
and  precipitate  His  death  by  open  rebellion  against  the 
Iloman  government  in  the  attempt  to  make  Him  a  kiug. 
He  saw  too  that  His  disciples  seemed  to  share  this  worldly 
and  perilous  excitement.  The  time  was  come,  therefore, 
for  instant  action.  By  the  exercise  of  direct  authority. 
He  compelled  His  disciples  to  embark  in  their  boat,  and 
cross  the  Lake  before  Him  in  the  direction  of  Capernaum 
or  the  western  Bethsaida.  A  little  gentle  constraint  was 
necessary,  for  they  were  naturally  unwilling  to  leave  Him 
among  the  excited  multitude  on  that  lonely  shore,  and  if 
anything  great  was  going  to  happen  to  Him  they  felt  a 
right  to  be  present.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  more  easy 
for  Him  to  dismiss  the  multitude  when  they  had  seen  that 
His  own  immediate  friends  and  disciples  had  been  sent 
away. 

So  in  the  gathering  dusk  He  gradually  and  gently  suc- 
ceeded in  i)ersuading  the  multitude  to  leave  Him,  and  when 
nil  \n\t  the  most  etithusiastic   had  streamed   away  to  tlieir 


218  THE  LtFK  OF  CHRIST. 

Iiomes  or  caravjins,  He  suddenly  left  the  rest,  and  fled 
from  them  to  the  hill-top  alone  to  pray,  lie  was  conscious 
that  a  solemn  and  awful  crisis  of  His  day  on  earth  was 
come,  and  by  communing  with  His  heavenly  Father,  He 
would  nerve  His  soul  for  the  stern  work  of  the  morrow, 
and '  the  bitter  conflict  of  many  coming  weeks.  Once 
before  He  had  spent  in  the  mountain  solitudes  a  night  of 
lonely  prayer,  but  then  it  was  before  the  choice  of  His  be- 
loved Apostles,  and  tlie  glad  tidings  of  His  earliest  and 
happiest  ministry.  Far  different  were  the  feelings  with 
which  the  Great  lligli  Priest  now  climbed  the  rocky  stairs 
of  that  great  mountain  altar  which  in  His  temple  of  tlie 
night  seemed  to  lift  Him  nearer  to  the  stars  of  God.  The 
murder  of  His  beloved  forerunner  brought  home  to  His 
soul  more  nearly  the  thought  of  death  ;  nor  was  He  de- 
ceived by  this  brief  blaze  of  a  falsely-founded  popularity, 
whicli  on  the  next  day  He  meant  to  quencli.  The  storm 
Avhich  now  began  to  sweep  over  the  barren  hills  ;  tlie  winds 
that  rushed  howling  down  the  ravines ;  the  Lake  before 
Him  buffeted  into  tempestuous  foam;  the  little  boat  which 
— as  the  moonlight  struggled  through  the  rifted  clouds — 
He  saw  tossing  beneatli  Him  on  the  laboring  waves,  were 
all  too  sure  an  emblem  of  the  altered  aspects  of  His  earthly 
life.  But  there  on  the  desolate  hill-top,  in  that  night  of 
storm,  He  could  gain  strength  and  peace  and  happiness 
unspeakable  ;  for  there  He  was  alone  with  God.  And  so 
over  that  figure,  bowed  in  lonely  prayer  upon  the  hills,  and 
over  tiiose  toilers  upon  the  troubled  lake,  the  darkness  fell 
and  the  great  winds  blew. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by.  It  was  now  the  fourtli  watch 
of  the  night ;  the  ship  had  traversed  but  half  of  its  destined 
course  ;  it  was  dark,  and  the  wind  was  contrary,  and  the 
waves  boisterous,  and  they  were  distressed  with  toiling  at 
the  oar,  and  above  all  there  was  no  one  with  them  now  to 
calm  and  save,  for  Jesus  was  alone  upon  the  land.  Alone 
upon  the  land,  and  they  were  tossing  on  the  perilous  sea  ; 
but  all  the  while  He  saw  and  pitied  them,  and  at  last,  in 
their  worst  extremity,  they  saw  a  gleam  in  the  darkness, 
and  an  awful  figure,  and  a  fluttering  robe,  and  One  drew 
near  them,  treading  upon  the  ridges  of  the  sea,  Imt  seemed 
as  if  He  meant  to  pass  them  by  ;  and  tliey  cried  out  in 
ter^yw  at  the  sight,  iln'nking  Ihixt   it  was  a  phantom  that 


FEEDING  OF  THE  FIVE  THOUSAND.  319 

walked  upon  the  waves.  And  througli  the  storm  and 
darkness  to  them— as  so  often  to  us,  when,  amid  the  dark- 
nesses of  life,  tlie  ocean  seems  so  great,  and  our  little  boats 
so  small— there  thrilled  that  Voice  of  peace,  which  said, 
"  It  is  I  :  be  not  afraid." 

Tliat  Voice  stilled  their  terrors,  and  at  once  they  were 
eager  to  receive  Him  into  the  ship  :  but  Peter's  impetuous 
love — the  strong  yearning  of  him  who,  in  his  despairing 
self-consciousness,  had  cried  out  "  Depart  from  me!" 
now  cannot  even  await  His  approach,  and  he  passionately 
exclaims : 

"  Lord,  if  it  be  Thou,  bid   me  come  unto  Thee  on   the 
water." 
"  Come  ! " 

And  over  the  vessel's  side  into  the  troubled  waves  he 
sprang,  and  while  his  eye  was  fixed  on  his  Lord,  the 
wind  miglit  toss  his  hair,  and  the  spray  might  drench 
his  robes,  but  all  was  well  ;  but  when,  with  wavering 
faith,  he  glanced  from  Him  to  the  furious  waves,  aiid 
to  the  gulfy  blackness  underneath,  then  he  began  to  sink, 
and  in  an  accent  of  despair — how  unlike  his  former  con- 
fijencel— he  faintly  cried,  "Lord,  save  me!"  nor  did 
Jesus  fail.  Instantly,  with  a  smile  of  pity.  He  stretched 
out  His  hand,  and  grasped  the  hand  of  His  drowning  dis- 
ciple with  the  gentle  rebuke,  "0  thou  of  little  faith,  why 
didst  thou  doubt  ?"  And  so,  his  love  satisfied,  but  his 
over-confidence  rebuked,  they  climbed — the  Lord  and  His 
abashed  Apostle — into  the  boat;  and  the  wind  lulled,  and 
amid  the  ripple  of  waves  u\)on  a  moonlit  shore,  they  were 
at  the  haven  where  they  would  be;  and  all — the  crew  as 
well  as  His  disciples— were  filled  with  deeper  and  deeper 
amazement,  and  some  of  them,  addressing  Him  by  a  title 
which  Natiianael  alone  had  applied  to  Him  before,  ex- 
claimed, "  Truly  Thou  art  the  Son  of  God." 

Let  us  pause  for  a  moment  longer  over  this  wonderful 
narrative,  perhaps  of  all  others  the  most  difficult  for  our 
faith  to  believe  or  understand.  Some  have  tried  in  vari- 
ous methods  to  explain  away  its  miraculous  character;  they 
have  labored  to  show  that  'kn\  r^v  b(x\a66ay  may  mean  no 
more  than  that  Jesus  walkeil  along  the  shore  parallel  to 
the  vessel;  or  even  that,  in  the  darkness,  the  Apostles 
may  have  thought  at  first  that  he  was,  or  had  been,  walk- 


2;i0  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ing  upon  the  sea.  Such  subterfuges  are  idle  and  superflu- 
ous. If  any  man  find  himself  unable  to  believe  in  miracles 
— if  he  even  think  it  wrong  to  try  and  acquire  the  faith 
which  accej^ts  them — then  let  him  be  thoroughly  convinced 
in  liis  own  mind,  and  cling  honestly  to  the  truth  as  he 
conceives  it. 

It  is  not  for  us,  or  for  any  man,  to  judge  another  :  to 
his  own  Master  he  standcth  oi'  falleth.  But  let  him  not 
attempt  to  foist  such  disbelief  into  the  plain  narrative  of 
the  Evangelists.  That  ihi'if  inicndcd  to  describe  an  amaz- 
ing miracle  is  indisputable  to  an}^  one  who  carefully  reads 
their  words;  and,  as  I  have  said  before,  if,  believing  in 
God,  we  believe  in  a  Divine  Providence  over  the  lives  of 
men — and,  believing  in  that  Divine  Providence,  believe  in 
the  miraculous — and,  believing  in  the  miraculous,  accept 
as  trutii  the  resurrection  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ — and,  be- 
lieving that  resurrection,  believe  that  He  was  indeed  the  Son 
of  God — then,  however  deeply  we  may  realize  the  beauty  and 
the  wonder  and  the  power  of  natural  laws,  we  realize  yet 
more  deeply  the  power  of  Him  who  holds  those  laws,  and 
all  which  they  liave  evolved,  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand; 
and  to  us  the  miraculous,  when  thus  attested,  will  be  in  no 
way  more  stupendous  than  the  natural,  nor  shall  we  find 
it  an  impossible  conception  that  He  who  sent  His  Son  to 
earth  to  die  for  us  should  have  put  all  authority  into  His 
hand. 

So,  then,  if,  like  Peter,  we  fix  our  eyes  on  Jesus,  we  too 
may  walk  triumphantly  over  the  swelling  waves  of  disbe- 
lief, and  unterrified  amid  the  rising  winds  of  doubt;  but  if 
Ave  turn  away  our  eyes  from  Him  in  whom  we  have  be- 
lieved— if,  as  it  is  so  easy  to  do,  and  we  are  so  much 
tempted  to  do,  we  look  rather  at  the  power  and  fury  of 
those  terrible  and  destructive  elements  than  at  Him  who 
can  help  and  save — then  we  too  shall  inevitably  sink.  Oh, 
if  we  feel,  often  and  often,  that  tlie  water-floods  threaten 
to  drown  us,  and  the  deep  to  swallow  up  the  tossed  vessel 
of  our  Church  and  Faith,  may  it  again  and  again  be  granted 
lis  to  hear  amid  the  storm  and  the  darkness,  and  the  voices 
prophesying  war,  those  two  sweetest  of  the  Saviour's 
n  Iterances — 

"  Fear  not.     Only  believe." 

"  It  is  I.     Be  not  afraid." 


THE  DISCO  URSK  A  T  CA  PERN  A  UM.  221 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   DISCOUESE   AT   CAPERNAUM:. 

The  dawn  of  that  day  broke  on  one  of  the  saddest  epi- 
sodes of  our  Saviour's  life.  It  was  the  day  in  the  syna- 
gogue at  Capernaum  on  wliich  he  deliberately  scattered 
the  mists  and  exhalations  of  such  spurious  popularity  as 
the  Miracle  of  the  Loaves  had  gathered  about  His  person 
and  his  work,  and  put  not  only'his  idle  followers,  but  some 
even  of  His  nearer  disciples,  to  a  test  under  which  their 
love  for  Him  entirely  failed.  That  discourse  in  the  syna- 
gogue forms  a  marked  crisis  in  His  career.  It  was  fol- 
lowed by  manifestations  of  surprised  dislike,  which  were  as 
the  first  muttering  of  that  storm  of  hatred  and  persecu- 
tion which  was  henceforth  to  burst  over  His  head. 

We  have  seen  already  that  some  of  the  multitude,  filled 
with  vague  wonder  and  insatiable  curiosity,  had  lingered 
on  the  little  plain  by  Bethsaida  Julias  that  they  might  fol- 
low the  movements  of  Jesus,  and  share  in  the  blessings 
of  triumphs  of  which  they  expected  an  immediate  mani- 
festation. They  had  seen  Him  dismiss  His  disciples,  and 
had  perhaps  caught  glimpses  of  Him  as  He  climbed  the 
hill  alone  ;  they  had  observed  that  the  wind  was  contrary, 
and  that  no  other  boat  but  that  of  the  Apostles  had  left 
the  shore  ;  they  made  sure,  therefore,  of  finding  him  some- 
where on  the  hills  above  the  plain.  Yet  when  the  morning 
dawned  they  saw  no  trace  of  Him  either  on  plain  or  hill. 
Meanwhile  some  little  boats— perhaps  driven  across  by  the 
same  gale  which  had  retarded  the  opposite  course  of  the 
disciples— had  arrived  from  Tiberias.  They  availed  them- 
.selvesof  these  to  cross  over  to  Capernaum  ;  and  there,  al- 
ready in  the  early  morning,  they  found  Plim,  after  all  the 
fatigues  and  agitations  of  yesterday — after  the  day  of  sad 
tidings  and  ceaseless  toil,  after  the  night  of  stormy  solitude 
and  ceaseless  prayer — calmly  seated  and  calmly  teaching, 
in  the  familiar  synagogue. 

''Rabbi,  when  didst  thou  get  hither?"  is  the  expression 
of  their  natural  surprise;  but  it  is  met  with  perfect  silence. 
The  miracle  of  walking  on  the  water  was  one  of  necessity 


i^^  TJTE  ITFR  OF  ClIRTST. 

and  mercy;  it  in  no  way  concerned  tluMn;  it  was  not  in 
any  way  intended  for  them  ;  nor  was  it  maiidy  or  essen- 
tially as  a  worker  of  miracles. that  ('hrist  wished  to  claim 
their  allegiance  or  conviiuie  tiieir  minds.  And,  therefore, 
reading  their  hearts,  knowing  that  they  were  seeking  Him  in 
the  very  spirit  which  He  most  disliked,  He  qnietly  drew 
aside  the  veil  of  perha})s  half-unconscious  hypoci-isy  which 
hid  them  from  themselves,  and  reproaciied  them  for  seek- 
ing Him  only  for  what  they  could  get  from  Him — *'not 
because  ye  saw  signs,  because  ye  ate  of  the  loaves  and  were 
satisfied."  He  who  never  rejected  the  cry  of  the  sufferer, 
or  refused  to  answer  the  question  of  the  faithful — He  who 
would  never  break  the  bruised  reed,  or  quench  the  smok- 
ing flax — at  once  rejected  the  false  eye-service  of  mean 
self-interest  and  vulgar  curiosity.  Yet  He  added  for  their 
sakes  the  eternal  lesson,  "  Labor  ye  not  for  the  meat  which 
perisheth,  but  for  the  meat  which  remaineth  to  eternal 
life,  which  the  Son  of  Man  shall  give  you;  for  Him  the 
Father — even  God — hath  sealed." 

It  seems  as  if  at  first  they  were  touched  and  ashamed. 
He  had  read  their  hearts  aright,  and  they  ask  Him,  "  What 
are  we  to  do  that  we  may  Avork  the  works  of  God?" 

"  This  is  the  work  of  God,  that  ye  believe  on  Him  whom 
He  hath  sent."  "But  what  sign  would  Jesus  give  them 
that  they  should  believe  in  Him?  Their  fathers  ate  the 
manna  in  the  wilderness,  which  David  had  called  bread 
from  heaven."  The  inference  was  obvious,  Moses  had 
given  them  manna  from  heaven.  Jesus  as  yet  —  tiiey 
hinted — had  only  given  them  barley  loaves  of  earth.  But 
if  He  were  the  true  Messiah,  was  He  not,  according  to  all 
the  legends  of  their  nation,  to  enrich  and  crown  them, 
and  to  banquet  them  on  pomegranates  from  Eden,  and 
•'a  vineyard  of  red  wine,"  and  upon  the  flesh  of  Behemoth 
and  Leviathan,  and  the  great  bird  Bar  Juchne?  Might 
not  the  very  psalm  which  they  had  quoted  have  taught 
them  how  worse  than  useless  it  would  have  been  if  Jesus 
had  given  them  manna,  which,  in  their  coarse  literalism, 
they  supposed  to  be  in  reality  angels'  food?  Is  not  David 
in  that  psalm  expressly  showing  that  to  grant  them  one 
such  blessing  was  only  to  make  them  ask  greedily  for  more, 
and  that  if  God  had  given  their  fathers  more,  it  was  only 
because  "  they  believed  not  in  God,  and   put   not  their 


THE  DISCO  mtSE  A  T  GAPERNA  IfM.  ^^g 

trust  in  His  help;"  but  "'  while  the  meat  was  yet  iu  their 
mouths,  the  heavy  wrath  of  God  came  upon  them,  and 
slew  the  mightiest  of  tliem,  and  smote  down  tlie  chosen 
men  tliat  were  in  Israel."  And  does  not  David  show  that 
in  spite  of,  and  before,  and  after,  this  wrathful  granting 
to  them  to  the  full  of  their  own  hearts'  lusts,  so  far  from 
believing  and  being  humble,  they  only  sinned  yet  more 
and  more  against  Him,  and  provoked  Him  more  and  more? 
Had  not  all  the  past  history  of  their  nation  proved  decis- 
ively that  faith  must  rest  on  deeper  foundations  than  signs 
and  miracles,  and  that  the  evil  heart  of  unbelief  must  be 
stirred  by  nobler  emotions  than  astonishment  at  the 
outstretched  hand  and  the  mighty  arm? 

But  Jesus  led  them  at  once  to  loftier  regions  than  those 
of  historical  conviction.  He  tells  them  that  He  who  had 
given  them  the  manna  was  not  Moses,  but  God;  and  that 
the  manna  was  only  in  poetic  metaphor  bread  from  heaven; 
but  that  His  Father,  the  true  giver,  was  giving  them  the 
true  bread  from  heaven  even  now — even  the  bread  of  God 
which  came  down  from  heaven,  and  was  giving  life  to  the 
world. 

Their  minds  still  fastened  to  mere  material  images — 
their  hopes  still  running  on  mere  material  benefits — they 
ask  for  this  bread  from  heaven  as  eagerly  as  the  woman  of 
Samaria  had  asked  for  the  water  which  quenches  all  thirst. 
**  Lord,  now  and  always  give  us  this  bread." 

Jesus  said  to  thetn,  "  I  am  the  bread  of  life.  He  that 
Cometh  to  me  shall  never  hunger,  and  he  that  believeth 
on  me  shall  never  thirst;"  and  He  proceeds  to  point  out 
to  them  that  He  came  to  do  the  Father's  will,  and  that 
His  will  was  that  all  who  came  to  His  Son  should  have 
eternal  life. 

Then  the  old  angry  murmurs  burst  out  again — not  this 
time  from  the  vulgar-minded  multitude,  but  from  His  old 
opponents  the  leading  Jews — "  How  could  He  say  that  He 
came  down  from  heaven?  How  could  He  call  Himself  the 
bread  of  life  ?  Was  He  not  Jesus,  the  son  of  Joseph,  the 
carpenter  of  Nazareth?" 

Jesus  never  met  these  murmurs  about  His  supposed 
parentage  and  place  of  birth  by  revealing  to  the  common 
crowds  the  high  mystery  of  His  earthly  origin.  He 
thought  not  equality"  with  God  a  thing  to  be  seized  by 


024  THE  LIFE  OF  CimTST. 

Iliin.  lie  was  in  no  hurry  to  claitn  His  own  Divinity,  or 
(leniand  the  lionnige  which  was  its  due.  He  would  let 
the  splendor  of  His  divine  nature  dawn  on  men  gradually, 
not  at  first  in  all  its  noonday  brightness,  but  gently  as  the 
light  of  morning  through  His  word  and  works.  In  the 
fullest  and  deepest  sense  "He  emptied  Himself  of  His 
glory." 

But  He  met  the  murmurers,  as  He  always  did,  by  a 
stronger,  fuller,  clearer  declaration  of  the  very  truth  which 
they  rejected.  It  was  thus  that  He  had  dealt  with  Nico- 
demus  ;  it  was  thus  that  He  had  taught  the  woman  of 
Samaria  ;  it  was  thus  also  that  He  answered  the  Temple 
doctors  who  arraigned  His  infringement  of  their  sabbatic 
rules.  But  the  timid  Eabbi  and  the  erring  woman  had 
been  faithful  enough  and  earnest  enough  to  look  deeper 
into  His  words  and  humbly  seek  their  meaning,  and  so  to 
be  guided  into  truth.  Not  so  with  these  listeners.  God 
had  drawn  them  to  Christ,  and  they  had  rejected  His 
gracious  drawing  without  which  they  conkl  not  come. 
When  Jesus  reminded  them  that  the.  manna  was  no  life- 
giving  substance,  since  their  fathers  had  eaten  thereof  and 
were  dead,  but  that  He  was  Himself  the  bread  of  life,  of 
which  all  who  eat  should  live  forever  ;  and  when,  in  lan- 
guage yet  more  startling,  He  added  that  the  bread  was  His 
flesh  which  He  would  give  for  the  life  of  the  world — then, 
instead  of  seeking  the  true  significance  of  that  deep  meta- 
phor, they  made  it  a  matter  of  mere  verbal  criticism,  and 
only  wrangled  together  about  the  idle  question,  "  How  can 
this  man  give  us  His  flesh  to  eat?" 

Thus  they  were  carnally-minded,  and  to  be  carnally- 
minded  is  death.  They  did  not  seek  the  truth,  and  it  was 
more  and  more  taken  from  them.  They  had  nothing,  and 
therefore  from  them  was  taken  even  Avhat  they  had.  In 
language  yet  more  emphatic,  under  figures  yet  more  start- 
ling, in  their  paradox,  Jesus  said  to  them,  "  Except  ye 
0at  the  flesh  of  the  Son  of  Man,  and  drink  His  blood,  ye 
have  no  life  in  you  ;"  and  again,  as  a  still  further  enforce- 
ment and  expansion  of  the  same  great  truths — "  He  that 
eateth  of  this  bread  shall  live  forever." 

No  doubt  the  words  were  difficult,  and,  to  those  who 
came  in  a  hard  and  false  spirit,  offensive;  no  doubt  also 
the  death  and  passion  of  our  Saviour  Christ,  and  the  mys- 


THE  DISCO  UR8E  A  T  CAPERNA  UM.  225 

tery  of  that  Holy  Sacrament,  in  wliich  we  spiritually  eat 
His  flesh  and  drink  His  blood,  lias  enabled  us  more  clearly 
to  understand  His  meaning;  yet  there  was  in  the  words 
which  He  had  used,  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to 
shadow  forth  to  every  attentive  hearer  the  great  trutii,  al- 
ready familiar  to  tliem  from  their  own  Law,  tliat  "  Man 
doth  not  live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word  that  pro- 
ceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God  ;"  and  the  further  truth 
tliat  eternal  life,  the  life  of  tlie  soul,  was  to  be  found  in  tlie 
deepest  and  most  intimate  of  all  conceivable  communions 
with  the  life  and  teaching  of  Him  who  spake.  And  it 
must  be  remembered  that  if  the  Lord's  Supper  has,  for  us, 
thrown  a  clearer  light  upon  the  meaning  of" this  discourse, 
on  the  other  hand  the  metaphors  which  Jesus  used  had 
not,  to  an  educated  Jew,  one-hundredth  part  of  the 
strangeness  which  they  have  to  us.  Jewish  literature  was 
exceedingly  familiar  with  the  symbolism  which  represented 
by  "' eating"  an  entire  acceptance  of  and  incorporation 
with  the  truth,  and  by  "bread"  a  spiritual  doctrine. 
Even  the  mere  pictorial  genius  of  the  Hebrew  language 
gave  the  clew  to  the  rigiit  interpretation.  Those  who 
heard  Christ  in  the  synagogue  of  Capernaum  must  almost 
involuntarily  have  recalled  similar  ex'pressions  in  their  own 

prophets;  and  since  the  discourse  was  avowedly  parabolic 

since  Jesus  had  expressly  excluded  all  purely  sensual  and 
Judaic  fancies — it  is  quite  clear  that  much  of  their  failure 
to  comprehend  Him  rose  not  from  the  understanding,  but 
from  the  will.  His  saying  was  hard,  as  St.  Augustine  re- 
marks, only  to  the  hard;  and  incredible  only  to  the  incred- 
ulous. For  if  bread  be  the  type  of  all  earthly  sustenance. 
then  the  "  bread  of  heaven  "  may  well  express  all  spiritual 
sustenance,  all   that   involves  and   supports   eternal    life. 

Now,  the  lesson  which  He  wished  to  teach  them  was  this 

that  eternal  life  is  in  the  Son  of  God.  They,  therefore, 
that  would  have  eternal  life  must  partake  of  "the  bread  of 
heaven,  or — to  use  the  other  and  deeper  image — must  eat 
the  flesh  and  drink  the  blood  of  the  Son  of  man.  They 
must  feed  on  Him  in  their  hearts  hy  faith.  They  might 
accept  or  reject  the  truth  which  He  was  revealing  to 
their  consciences,  but  there  could  be  no  possible  excuse  for 
their  pretended  incapacity  to  uiulerstand  its  meaning. 
There  is  a  teaciiing  wiiich  is,  and    is  intended  to  be, 


226  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

not  only  instructive,  but  probiitiotiary  ;  of  which  the  im- 
mediate purpose  is  not  only  to  tracli,  but  to  test.  Such  hud 
been  the  object  of  this  memorable  discourse.  To  compre- 
liend  it  rightly  required  an  effort  not  only  of  the  under- 
standing, but  also  of  the  will.  It  was  meant  to  put  an 
end  to  tlie  merely  selfish  hopes  of  that  *'  rabble  of  obtru- 
sive chiliasts  "  whose  irreverent  devotion  was  a  mere  cloak 
for  worldliness;  it  was  meant  also  to  place  before  the  Jew- 
ish authorities  words  which  they  were  too  full  of  hatred 
and  materialism  to  understand.  But  its  sifting  power 
went  deeper  than  this.  Some  even  of  the  disciples  found 
the  saying  harsh  and  repulsive.  They  did  not  speak  out 
openly,  but  Jesus  recognized  their  discontent,  and  when 
lie  had  left  the  synagogue,  spoke  to  them,  in  this  third 
and  concluding  part  of  His  discourse,  at  once  more  gently 
and  less  figuratively  than  He  had  done  to  the  others.  To 
these  He  prophesied  of  that  future  ascension,  which  should 
prove  to  them  that  He  had  indeed  comedown  from  heaven 
and  that  the  words  about  His  flesh — which  should  then 
be  taken  into  heaven — couM  oidy  have  a  figurative  mean- 
ing. Nay,  with  yet  fnrtlier  compassion  for  their  weakness. 
He  intimated  to  them  the  significance  of  those  strong 
metaphors  in  which  He  had  purposely  veiled  His  words 
from  the  curious  eyes  of  selfishness  and  the  settled  malice 
of  opposition.  In  one  sentence  which  is  surely  the  key- 
note of  all  that  had  gone  before — in  a  sentence  which 
surely  renders  nugatory  much  of  tlie  pseudo-mystical  and 
impossibly-elaboi-ate  exegesis  by  which  the  plain  meaning 
of  ibis  chapter  has  been  obscured,  He  added: 

"  It  is  the  spii-it  that  quickeneth  ;  the  flesh  profitetli 
nothing:  tlie  words  tJiat  I  speak  unto  you,  they  are  sjnrit, 
and  they  are  life."  Why  then  had  they  found  His  words 
so  hard  ?  He  tells  them  :  it  was  because  some  of  them 
believed  not;  it  was  because,  as  He  had  already  told  the 
Jews,  the  spirit  of  faith  is  a  gift  and  grace  of  God,  wliicli 
gift  these  murmurers  were  rejecting,  against  which  grace 
they  were  struggling  even  now. 

And  from  that  time  many  of  them  left  Him;  many  who 
had  hitherto  sought  Him,  many  who  were  not  far  from  tlie 
kingdom  of  heaven.  Even  in  the  midst  of  crowds  His  life 
was  to  be  lonelier  thenceforth,  because  there  would  be 
fevver  to  know  and  love   Him.     In  deep  sadness  of  heart 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION  221 

He  addressed  to  the  Twelve  the  touching  question,  "  Will 
ye  also  go  away  ?  "  It  was  Simon  Peter  wliose  warm  heart 
spoke  out  impetuously  for  all  the  rest.  He  at  least  had 
rightly  apprehended  that  strange  discourse  at  which  so 
many  had  stumbled.  "  Lord,"  he  exclaims,  "  to  whom 
shall  we  go  ?  Thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life. 
But  we  believe  and  are  sure  that  Thou  art  the  Holy  One 
of  God." 

It  was  a  noble  confession,  but  at  that  bitter  moment  the 
heart  of  Jesus  was  heavily  oppressed,  and  He  only  ans- 
wered : 

"  Have  not  I  chosen  you  twelve,  and  one  of  you  is  a 
devil?" 

The  expression  was  terribly  strong;  and  the  absence  of 
all  direct  parallels  render  it  difficult  for  us  to  understand 
its  exact  significance.  But  although  it  was  afterward 
known  that  the  reproacli  was  aimed  at  Judas,  yet  it  is 
doubtful  whether  at  the  actual  time  any  were  aware  of  this 
except  the  traitor  himself. 

Many  false  or  half-sincere  disciples  had  left  Him:  might 
not  these  words  have  been  graciously  meant  to  furnish  one 
more  opportunity  to  tlie  hard  and  impure  soul  of  the  man 
of  Kerioth,  so  that  befoi'e  being  plunged  into  yet  deeper 
and  more  irreparable  guilt,  Jie  might  leave  Him  too  ?  If 
so,  the  warning  was  rejected.  In  deadly  sin  against  his 
own  conscience,  Judas  stayed  to  heap  up  for  himself  wrath 
"against  the  day  of  wrath,  and  revelation  of  the  righteous 
judgment  of  God." 


CHAPTEK  XXXI. 

GATHERING    OPPOSITION. 

Although  the  discourse  wliich  we  have  just  narrated 
formed  a  marked  period  in  our  Lord's  miuisti-y,  and 
although  from  this  time  forward  the  clouds  gather  more 
and  more  densely  about  His  course,  yet  it  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  this  was  the  first  occasion,  even  in  Galilee,  on 
which  enmity  against  His  person  and  teaching  liad  been 
openly  displayed. 

1.  The  earliest  traces  of  doubt  and  disaffection  arose 


208  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRTf^T. 

from  the  expression  wliich  lie  used  on  several  occasions, 
''Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee."  It  was  in  these  words  that 
He  had  addressed  the  woman  tliat  was  a  sinner,  and  the 
sick  of  the  palsy.  On  botli  occasions  the  address  had 
excited  astonishment  and  disapproval,  and  at  Simon's 
honse,  where  this  had  found  no  open  expression,  and 
where  no  miracle  had  been  wrought,  Jesus  gently  substi- 
tuted another  expression.  But  it  was  not  so  at  the  healing 
of  the  palsied  man;  there  an  open  murmur  had  arisen 
among  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees ;  and  tliere,  revealing 
more  of  His  true  majesty,  Jesus,  by  His  power  of  working 
miracles,  had  vindicated  His  right  to  forgive  sins.  The 
argument  was  unanswerable,  for  not  only  did  the  prevalent 
belief  connect  sickness  in  every  instance  with  actual  sin, 
but  also  it  was  generally  maintained,  even  by  the  Rabbis, 
"that  no  sick  man  is  healed  from  his  disease  until  all  his 
sins  have  been  forgiven,"  It  was,  therefore,  in  full 
accordance  with  their  own  notions  that  He  who  by  His 
own  authority  could  heal  diseases  could  also  by  His  own 
authority  pronounce  that  sins  were  forgiven.  It  was  true 
that  they  could  hardly  conceive  of  either  healing  or 
forgiveness  conveyed  in  such  irregular  tihannels.  and 
without  the  paraphernalia  of  sacrifice?,  and  without 
the  need  of  sacerdotal  interventions.  But,  disagreeable 
as  such  proceedings  were  to  their  well-regulated  minds, 
the  fact  remained  that  the  cures  were  actually  wrought, 
and  were  actually  attested  by  hundreds  of  living  witnesses. 
It  was  felt,  therefore,  that  this  ground  of  opposition  was 
wiiolly  untenable,  and  it  was  tacitly  abandoned.  To  urge 
that  there  was  "blasphemy"  in  His  expressions  would 
only  serve  to  bring  into  greater  prominence  that  there  was 
miracle  in  His  acts. 

2.  Nor,  again,  do  they  seem  to  have  pressed  the  charge, 
preserved  for  us  only  by  our  Lord's  own  allusion,  that  He 
was  "a  glutton  and  a  wine  drinker."  The  charge  was 
far  too  flagrantly  false  and  malicious  to  excite  any 
prejudice  against  one  who,  although  He  did  not  adopt 
the  stern  asceticism  of  John,  3'et  lived  a  life  of  the 
extremest  simplicity,  and  merely  did  what  was  done  by 
the  most  scrupulous  Pharisees  in  accepting  the  invitations 
to  feasts,  where  He  had  constantly  fresh  opportunities  of 
teaching   and   doing   good.     The   calumny    was,  in   fact, 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION.  229 

destroyed  when  He  had  shown  that  the  men  of  that  gen- 
eration were  like  wayward  and  peevish  children  whom 
nothing  could  conciliate,  charging  Jesus  with  intemper- 
ance because  lie  did  not  avoid  an  innocent  festivity,  and 
John  with  demoniac  possession  because  he  set  his  face 
against  social  corruptions. 

3,  Nor,  once  more,  did  they  press  the  charge  of  His  not 
fasting.  In  makiug  that  complaint  they  had  hoped  for 
the  powerful  aid  of  John's  disciples  ;  but  when  these  had 
been  convinced,  by  the  words  of  their  own  prophet,  how 
futile  and  unreasonable  was  their  complaint,  the  Pharisees 
saw  that  it  was  useless  to  found  a  charge  upon  the  neglect 
of  a  practice  which  was  not  oidy  unrecognized  in  the 
Mosaic  law,  but  which  some  of  their  own  noblest  and 
wisest  teachers  had  not  encouraged.  The  fact  that  Jesus 
did  not  require  His  disciples  to  fast  would  certainly  cause 
no  forfeiture  of  the  popular  sympathy,  and  could  not  be 
nrged  to  His  discredit  even  before  a  synagogue  or  a 
Sanhedrin. 

4.  A  deeper  and  more  lasting  offense  was  caused,  and  a 
far  more  deadly  opposition  stimulated,  by  Christ's  choice 
of  Matthew  as  an  Apostle,  and  by  His  deliberate  toler- 
ance of  —  it  might  almost  be  said  preference  for  —  the 
society  of  publicans  and  sinners.  Among  the  Jews  of 
that  day  the  distinctions  of  religious  life  created  a  barrier 
almost  as  strong  as  that  of  caste.  No  less  a  person  than 
Hillel  had  said  that  '-'no  ignorant  person  could  save  him- 
self from  sin,  and  no  '  man  of  the  people'  be  pious."  A 
scrupulous  Jew  regarded  the  multitude  of  his  own  nation 
who  "  knew  not  the  Law "  as  accursed  ;  and  just  as 
every  Jew,  holding  himself  to  be  a  member  of  a  royal 
generation  and  a  peculiar  people,  looked  on  the  heathen 
world  with  the  sovereign  disdain  of  an  exclusiveness 
founded  on  the  habits  of  a  thousand  years,  so  the  purist 
faction  regarded  their  more  careless  and  offending 
brethren  as  being  little,  if  at  all,  better  than  tlie  very 
heathen.  Yet  here  was  one  who  mingled  freely  and 
familiarly — mingled  without  one  touch  of  hauteur  or 
hatred — among  offensive  publicans  and  flagrant  sinners. 
Nay,  more.  He  suffered  women,  out  of  whom  had  been 
cast  seven  devils,  to  accompany  Him  in  His  journeys,  and 
harlots  to  bathe  His  feet  with  tears  !     How  different  from 


330  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  Pharisees,  wlio  held  that  tliere  \va,s  pollution  in  the 
mere  touch  of  tliose  who  had  themselves  been  merely 
touched  by  the  profane  populace,  and  who  had  laid  down 
the  express  rule  that  no  one  ought  to  receive  a  guest  into 
his  house  if  he  suspected  him  of  being  a  sinner  ! 

Early  in  His  ministry,  Jesus,  with  a  divine  and  tender 
irony,  had  met  the  accusation  by  referring  them  to  His 
favorite  passage  of  Scripture — that  profound  utterance  of 
the  prophet  Hosea,  of  which  He  bade  them  "go  and 
learn"  tlie  meaning — "I  will  have  mercy  and  not  sacri- 
fices." He  had  further  rebuked  at  once  their  unkindli- 
ness  and  their  self-satisfaction  by  the  proverb,  "  They 
that  be  whole  need  not  a  physician,  but  they  that  are  sick." 
The  objection  did  not,  however,  die  away.  In  His  later 
days,  when  He  was  journeying  to  Jerusalem,  these 
incessant  enemies  again  raised  the  wrathful  and  scornful 
murmur,  "This  man  receiveth  sinners  and  eateth  with 
them  ;"  and  then  it  was  that  Jesus  answered  them  and 
justified  His  ways,  and  revealed  more  clearly  and  more 
lovingly  than  had  ever  been  done  before  the  purpose  of 
God's  love  toward  repentant  sinners,  in  those  three 
exquisite  and  memorable  parables,  the  lost  sheep, 
the  lost  piece  of  money,  and,  above  all,  the  prodigal 
son.  Drawn  from  the  simplest  elements  of  daily 
experience,  these  parables,  and  the  last  especially,  illus- 
trated, and  illustrated  forever,  in  a  rising  climax  of  ten- 
derness, the  deepest  mysteries  of  the  Divine  compassion — 
the  joy  that  there  is  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repent- 
eth.  Where,  in  the  entire  range  of  human  literature, 
sacred  or  profane,  can  anything  be  found  so  terse,  so  lumi- 
nous, so  full  of  infinite  tenderness  —  so  faithful  in  the 
picture  which  it  furnishes  of  the  consequences  of  sin,  yet 
so  merciful  in  the  hope  which  it  affords  to  amendment  and 
penitence — as  this  little  story  ?  How  does  it  summarize 
the  consolations  of  religion  and  the  sufferings  of  life  !  All 
sin  and  punishment,  all  penitence  aiid  forgiveness,  find 
their  best  delineation  in  these  few  brief  words.  The  radi- 
cal differences  of  temperament  and  impulse  which  separates 
different  classes  of  men — the  spurious  independence  of  a 
restless  free-will — the  preference  of  the  enjoyments  of  the 
present  to  all  hopes  of  tiie  future — the  wandering  far  away 
from  that  pure  and  peaceful  region  which  is  indeed  our 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION.  231 

home,  in  order  to  let  loose  ever}^  lower  passion  in  the 
riotous  indulgence  which  wastes  and  squanders  the  noblest 
gifts  of  life — the  brief  continuance  of  those  fierce  spasms 
of  forbidden  pleasure — the  consuming  hunger,  the  scorch- 
ing thirst,  the  helpless  slavery,  the  unutterable  degrada- 
tion, the  uncompassionated  anguish  that  must  inevitably 
ensue — where  have  these  myriad-times-repeated  experiences 
of  sin  and  sorrow  been  ever  painted — though  here  painted  in 
a  few  touches  only — by  a  hand  more  tend-er  and  more  true 
than  in  the  picture  of  that  foolish  boy  demanding  prema- 
turely the  share  which  he  claims  of  his  father's  goods ; 
journeying  into  a  far  country,  wasting  his  substance  with 
riotous  living;  suffering  from  want  in  the  mighty  famine  ; 
forced  to  submit  to  the  foul  infamy  of  feeding  swine,  and 
fain  to  fill  his  belly  with  the  swine-husks  which  no  man 
gave.  And  then  the  coming  to  himself,  the  memory  of 
his  father's  meanest  servants  who  had  enough  and  to  spare, 
the  return  homeward,  the  agonized  confession,  the  hum- 
ble, contrite,  heart-broken  entreaty,  and  that  never-to-be- 
equaled  climax  which,  like  a  sweet  voice  from  heaven,  has 
touched  so  many  million  hearts  to  penitence  and  tears  : 

"And  he  rose  and  came  to  his  father.  But  when  he 
was  yet  a  great  way  off  his  father  saw  him  and  had  com- 
passion, and  ran,  and  fell  on  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 
And  the  son  said  unto  him.  Father,  I  have  sinned  against 
heaven,  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be 
called  thy  son.  But  the  fatlier  said  to  the  servants.  Bring 
forth  the  best  robe  and  put  it  on  him,  and  put  a  ring  on 
his  hand  and  shoes  on  his  feet:  and  bring  iiither  the  fatted 
calf  and  kill  it ;  and  let  us  eat  and  be  merry:  for  this  my 
son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  was  lost  and  is  found." 

And  since  no  strain  could  rise  into  sweeter  and  nobler 
tenderness — since  death  itself  could  reveal  no  lovelier  or 
more  consolatory  lesson  than  it  conveys  to  sinful  man — to  us 
it  might  seem  that  this  is  the  true  climax  of  the  parable,  and 
that  here  it  should  end  as  with  the  music  of  angel  harps. 
And  here  it  would  have  ended  had  the  mystery  of  human 
malice  and  perversity  been  other  than  it  is.  But  the  con- 
clusion of  it  bears  most  directly  on  the  very  circumstances 
tliat  called  it  forth.  The  angry  murmur  of  the  Pharisees 
and  scribes  had  shown  how  utterly  ignorant  they  were,  in 
their  cold  dead  hardness  and  pi-ide  of  heart,  that,  in  the 


030  rilE  LIFE  OF  CUIUST. 

sight  of  (lod,  tliotetirof  one  truly  repentant  sinner  is  trans- 
ceiulently  dearer  than  the  h)veless  and  fruitless  formalism 
of  a  thousand  Pharisees.  Little  did  they  suspect  that 
penitence  can  bring  the  very  harlot  and  publican  into 
closer  coninuinion  with  their  Maker  than  the  combined 
excellence  of  a  thousand  vapid  and  respectable  hypoc- 
risies. And  therefore  it  was  that  Jesus  added  how  the 
elder  son  came  in,  and  was  indignant  at  the  noise  of  merri- 
ment, and  was  angry  at  that  ready  forgiveness,  and  re- 
proached the  tender  heart  of  his  father,  and  dragged  up 
again  in  their  worst  form  the  forgiven  sins  of  this  brother 
whom  he  would  not  acknowledge,  and  showed  all  the  nar- 
row unpardoning  malignity  of  a  heart  which  had  mistaken 
eternal  rectitude  for  holy  love.  Such  self-righteous  malice, 
such  pitiless  and  repulsive  respectability,  is  an  evil  more 
inveterate — a  sore  more  difficult  to  probe,  and  more  hard 
to  cure — than  open  disobedience  and  passionate  sin.  And 
truly,  when  we  read  this  story,  and  meditate  deeply  over 
all  that  it  implies,  we  may,  from  onr  hearts,  thank  God 
that  He  who  can  bring  good  out  of  the  worst  evil— honey 
out  of  the  slain  lion,  and  water  out  of  the  flinty  rock- 
could,  even  from  an  exhibition  of  such  a  spirit  as  this, 
draw  His  materials  for  the  divinest  utterance  of  all  revela- 
tion— the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son. 

The  relation  of  Jesus  to  publicans  and  sinners  was  thus 
explained,  and  also  the  utter  antagonism  between  His  spirit 
and  that  inflated  religionism  which  is  the  wretched  and 
hollow  counterfeit  of  all  real  religion.  The  Judaeism  of 
that  day  substituted  empty  forms  and  meaningless  cere- 
monies for  true  righteousness;  it  mistook  uncharitable 
exclusiveness  for  genuine  purity ;  it  delighted  to  sun 
itself  in  the  injustice  of  an  imagined  favoritism  from 
which  it  would  fain  have  shut  out  all  God's  other 
children  ;  it  was  so  profoundly  hypocritical  as  not  even 
to  recognize  its  own  hypocrisy  ;  it  never  thought  so  well 
of  itself  as  when  it  was  crushing  the  broken  reed  and 
trampling  out  the  last  spark  from  the  smoking  flax  ;  it 
thanked  God  for  the  very  sins  of  others,  and  thought  that 
He  could  be  pleased  with  a  service  in  which  there  was 
neither  humility,  nor  truthfulness,  nor  loyalty,  nor  love. 
These  poor  formalists,  who  thought  that  they  were  so  rich 
and  increased  with  goods,    had  to   learn  that   they  were 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION.  233 

wretched,  and  poor,  aud  miserable,  and  blind,  and  naked. 
These  sheep,  wliich  fancied  that  they  had  not  sLraved,  had 
to  understand  that  the  poor  lost  sheep  might  be  carried 
home  on  the  shoulders  of  the  Good  Sliepherd  with  a  yet 
deeper  tenderness;  these  elder  sons  had  to  learn  that  tlieir 
Father's  spirit,  however  little  they  might  be  able  to  realize 
it  in  their  frozen  unsympathetic  hearts,  was  this:  '*  It  was 
meet  that  we  should  make  merry  and  be  glad,  for  this  thy 
brother  was  dead  aud  is  alive  again,  was  lost  and  is  found." 
5.  But  however  much  it  might  be  manifest  that  the 
spirit  of  the  Christ  and  the  spirit  of  the  Pharisee  were 
irreconcilably  opposed  to  each  other,  yet  up  to  this  point 
the  enemies  of  Jesus  were  unable  to  ruin  His  influence  or 
check  His  work.  To  forgive,  with  the  same  word  which 
healed  the  diseases,  tlie  sins  by  which  tliey  believed  all  dis- 
eases to  be  caused — to  join  in  social  festivities — to  associate 
with  publicans  and  sinners— were  not,  and  could  not  be 
construed  into,  offenses  against  the  law.  But  a  weightier 
charge,  more  persistently  reiterated,  more  violently  resented, 
remained  behind  —  a  charge  of  distinctly  violating  the 
express  laws  of  Moses  by  non-observance  of  the  Sabbath. 
This  it  was  which  caused  a  surprise,  an  exacerbation,  a 
madness,  a  thirst  for  sanguinary  vengeance,  which  pursued 
Him  to  the  very  cross.  For  the  Sabbath  was  a  Mosaic, 
nay,  even  a  primeval  institution,  and  it  had  become  the 
most  distinctive  and  the  most  passionately  reverenced  of 
all  the  ordinances  which  separated  the  Jew  from  the  Gen- 
tile as  a  peculiar  people.  It  was  at  once  the  sign  of  their 
exclusive  privileges,  and  the  center  of  their  barren  formal- 
ism. Their  traditions,  their  patriotism,  even  their  obsti- 
nacy, were  all  enlisted  in  its  scrupulous  maintenance.  Not 
only  had  it  been  observed  in  heaven  before  man  was,  but 
they  declared  that  the  people  of  Israel  had  been  chosen  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  keepiug  it.  Was  it  not  even  miracu- 
lously kept  by  the  Sabbatical  river  of  the  Holy  City  ? 
Their  devotion  to  it  was  only  deepened  by  the  universal 
ridicule,  inconvenience,  and  loss  which  it  entailed  upon 
them  in  the  heathen  world.  They  were  even  proud  that, 
from  having  observed  it  with  a  stolid  literalism,  they  had 
suffered  themselves  on  that  day  to  lose  battles,  to  be  cut  to 
l)ieces  by  their  enemies,  to  see  Jerusalem  itself  imperilled 
aud  captured.     Its  observance  had  been  fenced   round  by 


234  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  minutest,  the  most  p;iiiifiil]y  precise,  tlie  most  ludi- 
crously insignificant  restrictions.  The  Prophet  had  called 
it  *' a  delight."  and  therefore  it  was  a  duty  even  for  the 
poor  to  eat  three  times  on  that  day.  They  were  to  feast 
on  it,  though  no  fire  was  to  be  lighted  and  no  food  cooked. 
According  to  the  stilf  and  narrow  school  of  Shammai,  no 
one  on  the  Sabbatli  might  even  comfort  the  sick  or  enliven 
the  sorrowful.  Even  the  preservation  of  life  was  a  break- 
ing of  the  Sabbath;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  even  to  kill  a 
flea  was  as  bad  as  to  kill  a  camel.  Had  not  the  command 
to  "  do  no  manner  of  work  upon  the  Sabbath  day"  been 
most  absolute  and  most  emphatic?  had  not  Moses  himself 
and  all  the  congregation  caused  the  son  of  Shelomitli  to  be 
stoned  to  death  for  merely  gathering  sticks  upon  it?  had 
not  the  Great  Synagogue  itself  drawn  up  the  thirty-nine 
ahhotli  and  quite  innumerable  toldoth,  or  prohibitions  of 
labors  which  violated  it  in  the  first  or  in  the  second  de- 
gree? Yet  here  was  One,  claiming  to  be  a  prophet,  yea, 
and  more  than  a  prophet,  deliberately  setting  aside,  as  it 
seemed  to  them,  the  traditional  sanctity  of  tiiat  day  of 
days!  Every  attentive  reader  of  the  Gospels  will  be  sur- 
prised to  find  how  large  a  portion  of  the  enmity  and  oppo- 
sition which  our  Lord  excited,  not  only  in  Jerusalem,  but 
even  in  Galilee  and  in  Pertea,  turned  upon  this  point  alone. 
The  earliest  outbreak  of  the  feeling  in  Galilee  must  have 
occurred  shortly  after  the  events  narrated  in  the  last  chap- 
ter. The  feeding  of  the  five  thousand,  and  the  discourse 
in  the  synagogue  of  Capernaum,  took  place  immediately 
before  a  Passover.  None  of  the  Evangelists  narrate  the 
events  which  immediately  succeeded.  If  Jesus  attended 
this  Passover,  He  must  have  done  so  in  strict  privacy  and 
seclusion,  and  no  single  incident  of  His  visit  has  been  rec- 
orded. It  is  more  probable  that  the  peril  and  opposition 
which  He  had  undei'gone  in  Jerusalem  were  sufficient  to 
determine  His  absence  "until  this  tyranny  was  overpast." 
It  is  not,  however,  impossible  that,  if  He  did  not  go  in 
person,  some  at  least  of  His  disciples  fulfilled  this  national 
obligation;  and  it  may  have  been  an  observation  of  their 
behavior,  combined  with  the  deep  hatred  inspired  by  His 
bidding  the  healed  man  take  up  his  bed  on  the  Sabbath 
day,  and  by  the  ground  which  He  had  taken  in  defending 
Himself  against  that  charge,  which  induced   the  Scribes 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION.  335 

and  Pharisees  of  Jerusalem  to  send  some  of  their  number 
to  follow  His  steps,  and  to  keep  an  espionage  upon  His 
actions,  even  by  the  shores  of  His  own  beloved  lake.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  henceforth,  at  every  turn  and  every  period 
of  His  career — in  the  corn-fields,  in  synagogues,  in  feasts, 
during  journeys,  at  Capernaum  at  Magdala,  in  Pera;a,  at 
Bethany  —  we  find  Him  dogged,  watched,  impeded,  re- 
proached, questioned,  tempted,  insulted,  conspired  against 
by  these  representatives  of  the  leading  authorities  of  His 
nation,  of  whom  we  are  repeatedly  told  that  they  were  not 
natives  of  the  place,  but  ''certain  which  came  from  Jeru- 
salem." 

1.  The  first  attack  in  Galilee  arose  from  the  circum- 
stances that,  in  passing  through  the  corn-fields  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  His  disciples,  who  were  suffering  from 
hunger,  plucked  the  ears  of  corn,  rubbed  tiiem  in  the 
palms  of  their  hands,  blew  away  the  chaff,  and  ate.  Un- 
doubtedly this  was  a  very  high  offense — even  a  capital 
offense  —  in  the  eyes  of  the  L(^galists.  To  reap  and  to 
thresh  on  the  Sabbath  were  of  course  forbidden  by  one 
of  the  abhofh,  or  primary  rules;  but  the  Eabbis  had  decided 
that  to  pluck  corn  was  to  be  construed  as  reaping,  and  to 
rub  it  as  threshing;  even  to  walk  on  grass  was  forbidden, 
because  that  too  was  a  species  of  threshing;  and  not  so 
much  as  a  fruit  must  be  plucked  from  a  tree.  All  these 
latter  acts  were  violations  of  the  toUUth,  or  "derivative 
rules."  Perhaps  these  spying  Pharisees  had  followed  Jesus 
on  this  Sabbath  day  to  watch  whether  He  would  go  more 
than  the  prescribed  techiim  ha-Shahbeth,  or  Sabbath-day's 
journey  of  two  thousand  cubits;  but  here  they  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  light  upon  a  far  more  heinous  and 
flagrant  scandal — an  act  of  the  disciples  which,  strictly 
and  technically  speaking,  rendered  them  liable  to  death  by 
stoning.  Jesus  Himself  had  not  indeed  shared  in  the 
offense.  If  we  may  press  the  somewhat  peculiar  expres- 
sion of  St.  Mark,  He  was  walking  along  through  the  corn- 
fields by  the  ordinary  path,  bearing  His  hunger  as  best  He 
might,  while  the  disciples  were  pushing  for  themselves  a 
road  through  the  standing  corn  by  plucking  the  ears  as 
they  went  along.  Now  there  was  no  harm  whatever  in 
plucking  the  ears;  that  was  not  only  sanctioned  by  custom, 
but  even  distinctly  permitted  by  the  Mosaic  law.     But  the 


236  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lieinous  fact  was  that  this  should  be  done  ow  « /S'aJia^A  / 
Instantly  the  Pharisees  are  round  our  Lord,  pointing  to 
the  disciples  with  the  angry  question,  "  See  !  why  do  they" 
— with  a  contemptuous  gesture  toward  the  disciples — "do 
that  which  is  not  lawful  on  the  Sabbath  day?" 

AVith  that  divine  and  instantaneous  readiness,  with  that 
depth  of  insight  and  width  of  knowledge  which  character- 
ized His  answers  to  the  most  sudden  surprises,  Jesus 
instantly  protected  His  disciples  with  personal  approval 
and  decisive  support.  As  the  charge  this  time  was  aimed 
not  at  Himself  but  at  His  disciples.  His  line  of  argument 
and  defense  differs  entirely  from  that  which,  as  we  have 
seen.  He  had  adopted  at  Jerusalem.  There  He  rested  His 
supposed  violation  of  the  law  on  His  personal  authority  ; 
here,  while  He  again  declared  Himself  Lord  of  the  Sabbath, 
He  instantly  quoted  first  from  their  own  CetJmbhim,  then 
from  their  own  Law,  a  precedent  and  a  principle  which 
absolved  His  followers  from  all  blame.  "Have  ye  not 
read,"  He  asked,  adopting  perhaps  with  a  certain  delicate 
irony,  as  He  did  at  other  times,  a  favorite  formula  of  their 
own  Rabbis,  '"  how  David  not  only  went  with  armed  fol- 
lowers into  the  Temple  on  the  Sabbath  day,  but  actually 
ate  with  them  the  sanctified  shewbread,  which  it  was  ex- 
pressly forbidden  for  any  but  the  priests  to  eat?"  If 
David,  their  hero,  their  favorite,  their  saint,  had  thus 
openly  and  flagrantly  violated  the  letter  of  the  law,  and 
had  yet  been  blameless  on  the  sole  plea  of  a  necessity 
higher  than  any  merely  ceremonial  injunction,  why  were 
the  disciples  to  blame  for  the  harmless  act  of  sating  their 
hanger  ?  And  again,  if  their  own  Rabbis  had  laid  it  down 
that  there  was  "no  Sabbatism  in  the  Temple;"  that  the 
priests  on  the  Sabbath  might  hew  the  wood,  and  light  the 
tires,  and  place  hot  fresh-baked  shewbread  on  the  table, 
and  slay  double  victims,  and  circumcise  children,  and  thus 
in  every  way  violate  the  rules  of  the  Sopherim  about  the 
Sabbath,  and  yet  be  blameless — nay,  if  in  acting  thus  they 
were  breaking  the  Sabbath  at  the  bidding  of  the  very  Law 
which  ordains  the  Sabbath — then  if  the  Temple  excuses 
them,  ought  not  something  greater  than  the  Temple  to 
excuse  these  ?  And  there  was  something  greater  than  the 
Temple  here.  And  then  once  more  He  reminds  them  that 
mercv  is  better  than  sacrifice.     Now  the  Sabbath  was  ex- 


OATSERINQ  OPPOSTTtOlT.  237 

pressly  designed  for  mevcy,  and  therefore  not  only  might 
uU  acts  of  mercy  be  blamelessly  performed  thereon,  but 
such  acts  would  be  more  pleasing  to  God  than  all  the 
insensate  and  self-satisfied  scrupulosities  which  had  turned 
a  rich  blessing  into  a  burden  and  a  snare.  The  Sabbath 
was  made  for  man,  not  man  for  the  Sabbath,  and  therefore 
the  Son  of  Man  is  Lord  also  of  the  Sabbath. 

In  the  Codex  Bezac,  an  ancient  and  valuable  manuscript 
now  in  the  University  Library  at  Cambiidge,  tliere  occurs 
after  Luke  vi.  5  tliis'remarkable  addition — "  On  the  same 
day,  seeing  one  working  on  the  Sabbath,  He  said  to  him, 
0  man,  if  indeed  than  hnoioest  loliat  thou  doed,  thou  art 
Messed ;  but  if  thou  Tcnowest  not,  thou  art  accursed,  and 
a  transgressor  of  the  law."  The  incident  is  curious;  it  is 
preserved  for  us  in  this  manuscript  alone,  and  it  may  per- 
haps be  set  aside  as  apocryphal,  or  at  best  as  one  of  those 
axpatpa  doynara,  or  "unrecorded  sayings"  wdiich,  like  Acts 
XX.  35,  are  attributed  to  our  Lord  by  tradition  only.  Yet 
the  story  is  too  striking,  too  intrinsically  probable,  to  be  at 
once  rejected  as  unauthentic.  Nothing  could  more  clearly 
illustrate  the  spirit  of  our  Lord's  teaching,  as  it  was  under- 
stood, for  instance,  by  St.  Paul.  For  the  meaning  of  the 
story  obviously  is — If  thy  work  is  of  faith,  then  thou  art 
acting  rightly:  if  it  is  not  of  faith,  it  is  sin. 

ii.  It  was  apparently  on  the  day  signalized  by  this  bitter 
attack,  that  our  Lord  again,  later  in  the  afternoon,  entered 
the  synagogue.  A  man — tradition  says  that  he  was  a  stone- 
mason, maimed  by  an  accident,  who  had  prayed  Christ  to 
heal  him,  that  he  might  not  be  forced  to  beg — was  sitting 
in  the  synagogue.  His  presence,  and  apparently  the  pur- 
pose of  His  presence,  was  known  to  all ;  and  in  the  chief 
seats  were  Scribes,  Pharisees  and  Herodians,  whose  jealous, 
malignant  gaze  was  fixed  on  Christ  to  see  what  He  would 
do,  that  they  miglit  accuse  Him.  He  did  not  leave  them 
long  in  doubt.  First  He  bade  tlie  man  with  the  withered 
hand  get  up  and  stand  out  in  the  midst.  And  then  He 
referred  to  the  adjudication  of  their  own  consciences  the 
question  that  was  in  their  hearts,  formulating  it  only  in 
such  a  way  as  to  show  them  its  real  significance.  "  Is  it 
lawful,"  He  asked,  "on  the  Sabbath  days  to  do  good  or  to 
do  evil?  to  save  life  (as  I  am  doing),  or  to  kill  (as  you  in 
your  hearts  are  wishing  to  do)?"     There  could  be  but  one 


^38  TME  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

answer  to  such  a  question,  but  they  were  not  there  either 
to  search  for  or  to  tell  the  truth.  Their  sole  object  was  to 
watch  what  He  would  do,  and  found  upon  it  a  public 
charge  before  the  Sanhedrin  ;  or  if  not,  at  least  to  brand 
Him  thenceforth  with  the  open  stigma  of  a  Sabbath- 
breaker.  Therefore  they  met  the  question  by  stolid  and 
impotent  silence.  But  He  would  not  allow  them  to  escape 
the  verdict  of  their  own  better  judgment,  and  tiierefore  He 
justified  Himself  by  their  own  distinct  practice,  no  less 
than  by  their  inability  to  answer.  "  Is  there  one  of  you," 
He  asked,  •'who,  if  but  a  single  sheep  be  fallen  into  a 
water-pit,  will  not  get  hold  of  it,  and  pull  it  out  ?  How 
much,  then,  is  a  man  better  than  a  sheep?"  The  argu- 
ment was  unanswerable,  and  their  own  conduct  in  the 
matter  was  undeniable  ;  but  still  their  fierce  silence  re- 
mained unbroken.  He  looked  round  on  them  with  anger; 
a  holy  indignation  burned  in  His  heart,  glowed  on  His 
countenance,  animated  His  gesture,  rang  in  His  voice,  as 
slowly  he  swept  each  hard  upturned  face  with  the  glance 
that  upbraided  them  for  their  malignity  and  meanness,  for 
their  ignorance  and  pride;  and  then,  suppressing  that  bitter 
and  strong  emotion  as  He  turned  to  do  His  deed  of  mercy, 
He  said  to  the  man,  "  Stretch  forth  thy  hand."  Was 
not  the  hand  withered?  How  could  he  stretch  it  forth? 
The  word  of  Christ  supplied  the  power  to  fulfill  His  com- 
mand: he  stretched  it  out,  and  it  was  restored  whole  as  the 
other. 

Thus  in  every  way  were  His  enemies  foiled — foiled  in 
argument,  shamed  into  silence,  thwarted  even  in  their  at- 
tempt to  find  some  ground  for  a  criminal  accusation.  For 
even  in  healing  the  man,  Christ  had  done  absolutely  noth- 
ing which  their  worst  hostility  could  misconstrue  into  a 
breach  of  the  Sabbath  law.  He  had  not  touched  the  man; 
He  had  not  questioned  him  ;  He  had  not  bid  him  exercise 
his  recovered  power  ;  He  had  but  spoken  a  word,  and  not 
even  a  Pharisee  could  say  that  to  speak  a  word  was  an  in- 
fraction of  the  Sabbath,  even  if  the  word  were  followed  by 
miraculous  blessing!  They  must  have  felt  how  utterly  they 
were  defeated,  but  it  only  kindled  their  rage  the  more. 
They  were  filled  with  madness,  and  communed  one  with 
another  what  they  might  do  to  Jesus.  Hitherto  they  had 
been  enemies  of  the  Herodians.     They  regarded  them  as 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION.  239 

half-apostate  Jews,  who  accepted  the  Roman  domination, 
imitated  heathen  practices,  adopted  Sadducean  opinions, 
and  had  gone  so  far  in  their  flattery  to  the  reigning  house 
that  they  had  bhisphemously  tried  to  represent  Herod  the 
Great  as'  the  promised  Messiah.  But  now  their  old  enmi- 
ties were  reconciled  in  their  mad  rage  against  a  common 
foe.  Something — perhaps  the  fear  of  Antipas,  perhaps 
political  suspicion,  perhaps  the  mere  natural  hatred  of 
worldlings  and  renegades  against  the  sweet  and  noble  doc- 
trines which  shamed  their  lives — had  recently  added  these 
Herodians  to  the  number  of  the  Saviour's  persecutors. 
As  Galilee  was  the  chief  center  of  Christ's  activity,  the 
Jerusalem  Pharisees  were  glad  to  avail  themselves  of  any 
aid  from  the  Galila^an  tetrarch  and  his  followers.  They 
took  common  council  how  they  might  destroy  by  violence 
the  Prophet  whom  they  could  neither  refute  by  reasoning 
nor  circumvent  by  law. 

This  enmity  of  the  leaders  had  not  yet  estranged  from 
Christ  the  minds  of  the  multitude.  It  made  it  desirable, 
however,  for  Him  to  move  to  another  place,  because  He 
would  "neither  strive  nor  cry,  neither  should  any  man 
hear  His  voice  in  the  street,"  and  the  hour  was  not  yet 
come  when  He  should  "send  forth  judgment  to  victory." 
But  before  His  departure  there  occurred  scenes  yet  more 
violent,  and  outbreaks  of  fury  against  Him  yet  more 
marked  and  dangerous.  Every  day  it  became  more  and 
more  necessary  to'^show  that  the  rift  between  Himself  and 
the  religious  leaders  of  His  nation  was  deep  and  final  ; 
every  day  it  became  more  and  more  necessary  to  expose  the 
hypocritical  formalism  which  pervaded  their  doctrines,  and 
which  was  but  the  efflorescence  of  a  fatal  and  deeply- 
seated  plague. 

6.  His  iirst  distinct  denunciation  of  the  principles  that 
lay  at  the  very  basis  of  the  Pharisaic  system  was  caused  by 
another  combined  attempt  of  the  Jerusalem  Scribes  to 
damage  the  position  of  His  disciples.  On  some  occasion 
they  had  observed  that  the  disciples  had  sat  down  to  a  meal 
without  previous  ablutions.  Now  these  ablutions  were  in- 
sisted upon  with  special  solemnity  by  the  Oral  Tradition. 
The  Jews  of  later  times  related  with  intense  admiration  how 
the  Rabbi  Akiba,  when  imprisoned  and  furnished  with  only 
sutiicient  water  to  maintain  life,  preferred  to  die  of  starva- 


240  THE  LTFE  OF  GIIRTST. 

tiou  rather  than  eat  witliont  the  proper  washings.  The 
Pharisees,  therefore,  corning  np  to  Jesus  as  usual  in  a 
body,  ask  Him,  with  a  swelling  sense  of  self-importance  at 
the  justice  of  their  reproach,  "  Why  do  tliy  disciples  trans- 
gress the  tradition  of  the  elders  ?  for  they  wash  not  their 
hands  when  they  eat  bread," 

Before  giving  oar  Lord's  reply,  St.  Mark  pauses  to  tell 
us  that  the  traditional  ablutions  observed  by  the  Pharisees 
and  all  the  leading  Jews  were  extremely  elaborate  and 
numerous.  Before  every  meal  and  at  every  return  from 
market,  they  washed  "■  with  the  first,"  and  if  no  water  was 
at  hand  a  man  was  obliged  to  go  at  least  four  miles  to 
search  for  it.  Besides  this  there  were  precise  rules  for  the 
washing  of  all  cups  and  sextarii  and  banquet  couches  {tric- 
linia) and  brazen  vessels.  The  treatise  SlnVchan-Arilk, 
or  "Table  arranged,"  a  compendium  of  Rabbinical  usages 
drawn  up  by  Josef  Karo  in  1567,  contains  no  less  than 
twenty-six  prayers  by  which  these  washings  were  accom- 
panied. To  neglect  them  was  as  bad  as  homicide,  and  in- 
volved a  forfeiture  of  eternal  life.  And  yet  the  disciples 
dared  to  eat  with  "common"  (that  is,  with  unwashed) 
hands ! 

As  usual,  our  Lord  at  once  made  common  cause  with 
His  disciples,  and  did  not  leave  them,  in  their  simplicity  and 
ignorance,  to  be  overawed  by  the  attack  of  these  stately  and 
sanctimonious  critics.  He  answered  their  question  by  a 
far  graver  one.  "Why,"  He  said,  "do  you  too  violate 
the  commandment  of  God  by  this  'tradition'  of  yours? 
For  God's  command  was  '  Honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother;'  but  your  gloss  is,  instead  of  giving  to  father  and 
mother,  a  man  may  simply  give  the  sum  intended  for  their 
support  to  the  sacred  treasury,  and  say,  'It is  Corban,'  and 
then — he  is  exempt  from  any  further  burden  in  their  sup- 
port !  And  many  such  things  ye  do.  Ye  hypocrites  !' — 
it  was  the  first  time  our  Lord  had  thus  sternly  rebuked 
them — "finely  do  ye  abolish  and  obliterate  the  command- 
ment of  God  by  your  traditions;  and  well  did  Isaiah 
prophesy  of  you,  'This  people  honoreth  me  with  their  lips, 
but  their  heart  is  far  from  me;  but  in  vain  do  they  wor- 
ship me,  teaching  for  doctrines  the  commandment  of 
men.'" 

This  was  not  only  a  defense  of  the  disciples — because  it 


GATHERING  OPPOSITION.  241 

showed  that  they  merely  neglected  a  body  of  regulations 
which  were  in  themselves  so  opposed  to  the  very  letter  of 
the  sacred  law  as  in  many  cases  to  be  more  honored 
in  the  breach  than  in  the  observance  —  but  it  was  the 
open  rebuke  of  One  who  assumed  a  superior  and  fear- 
less authority,  and  a  distinct  reprobation  of  a  system  which 
guided  all  the  actions  of  the  Rabbinic  caste,  and  was  more 
reverenced  than  the  Pentateuch  itself.  The  quintessence 
of  that  system  was  to  sacrifice  the  spirit  to  the  letter,  which 
apart  from  that  spirit  was  more  than  valueless;  and  to 
sacrifice  the  letter  itself  to  mere  inferences  from  it  which 
were  absolutely  pernicious.  The  Jews  distinguished  be- 
tween the  written  Law  ( Torah  Sheheheteh)  and  the  tradi- 
tional Law,  or  "  Law  upon  the  lip"  (T'omA  Shebeal piJi) ;  and 
the  latter  was  asserted,  by  its  more  extravagant  votaries, 
to  have  been  orally  delivered  by  God  to  Moses,  and  orally 
transmitted  by  him  through  a  succession  of  elders.  On  it 
is  founded  the  Talmud  (or '' doctrine"),  which  consists 
of  the  Mishna  (or  "repetition")  of  the  Law,  and  the  Ge- 
mara,  or  "supplement  "  to  it;  and  so  extravagant  did  the 
reverence  for  the  Talmud  become,  that  it  was  said  to  be, 
in  relation  to  the  Law,  as  wine  to  water;  to  read  the  Scrip- 
tures was  a  matter  of  indifference,  but  to  read  the  Mishna 
Avas  meritorious,  and  to  read  the  Gemara  would  be  to  re- 
ceive the  richest  recompense.  And  it  was  this  grandiose 
system  of  revered  commentary  and  pious  custom  which 
Jesus  now  completely  discountenanced,  as  not  only  to  de- 
fend the  neglect  of  it,  but  even  openly  to  condemn  and 
repudiate  its  most  established  principles.  He  thus  con- 
signed to  oblivion  and  indifference  the  entire  parapher- 
nalia of  HagadiUh  ("legends")  and  HalacMth  ("  rules"), 
which,  though  up  to  that  period  it  had  not  been  commit- 
ted to  writing,  was  yet  devoutly  cherished  in  the  memory 
of  the  learned,  and  constituted  the  very  treasury  of 
Rabbinic  wisdom. 

Nor  was  this  all ;  not  content  with  shattering  the  very 
bases  of  their  external  religion.  He  even  taught  to  the  multi- 
tude doctrines  which  would  undermine  their  entire  author- 
ity— doctrines  which  would  tend  to  bring  their  vaunted 
wisdom  into  utter  discredit.  The  supremacy  of  His  dis- 
approval was  in  exact  proportion  to  the  boundlessness  of 
their  own  arrogant  self-assertion;  and,  turning  away  from 


242  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

them  as  though  they  were  hopeless,  He  summoned  the 
multitude,  whom  they  had  trained  to  look  up  to  them  as 
little  gods,  and  spoke  these  short  and  weighty  words  : 

"Hear  me,  all  of  you,  and  understand!  Not  that  which 
goeth  into  the  mouth  detileth  the  man  ;  but  that  which 
conieth  out  of  the  mouth,  that  defileth  a  man." 

Tiie  Pharisees  were  bitterly  offended  by  this  saying,  as 
well  indeed  they  might  be.  Condemnatory  as  it  was  of  the 
too  common  sacerdotal  infatuation  for  all  that  is  merely 
ceremonial,  that  utterance  of  Jesus  should  have  been  the 
final  death-knell  of  that  superfluity  of  voluntary  ceremon- 
ialism for  which  one  of  the  Fathers  coins  the  inimitable 
word  kBEXo7CEpi66oOp7]6KEia.  '  His  disciples  were  not  slow  to 
inform  Him  of  tlie  indignation  which  His  words  had 
caused,  for  they  probably  retained  a  large  share  of  the 
l)opular  awe  for  the  leading  sect.  But  the  reply  of  Jesus 
was  an  expression  of  calm  indifference  to  earthly  judg- 
ment, a  reference  of  all  worth  to  the  sole  judgment  of  God 
as  shown  in  the  slow  ripening  of  events.  "  Every  plant 
which  my  Heavenly  Father  hath  not  planted  shall  be 
rooted  up.  Let  them  alone.  They  be  blind  leaders  of  the 
blind;  and  if  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  shall  they  not  both 
fall  into  the  ditch?" 

A  little  later,  when  they  were  indoors  and  alone,  Peter 
ventured  to  ask  for  an  explanation  of  the  words  which  He 
had  uttered  so  emphatically  to  the  multitude.  Jesus 
gently  blamed  the  want  of  comprehension  among  His 
Aj^ostles,  but  showed  them,  in  teaching  of  deep  signifi- 
cance, that  man's  food  does  but  affect  his  material  structure, 
and  does  not  enter  into  his  heart,  or  touch  his  real  being; 
but  that  "from  within,  out  of  the  heart  of  men,  proceed 
evil  thoughts,  adulteries,  fornications,  murders,  theft, 
covetousness,  wickedness,  deceit,  lasciviousness,  an  evil 
eye,  blasphemy,  pride,  foolishness." 

Evil  thoughts — like  one  tiny  rill  of  evil,  and  then  the 
burst  of  all  that  black  overwhelming  torrent! 

"  These  are  the  things  which  defile  a  man;  but  to  eat 
with  unwasheu  hands  defileth  not  a  man." 


DEEPENING  OPPOSITION.  243 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

DEEPENING   OPPOSITION. 

There  was  to  be  one  more  day  of  opposition — more 
bitter,  more  dangerous,  more  personal,  more  implacable — ■ 
one  day  of  open  and  final  ruiiture  between  Jesus  and  the 
I'harisaic  spies  from  Jerusalem — before  He  yielded  for  a 
time  to  the  deadly  hatred  of  His  enemies,  and  retired  to 
find  in  heathen  countries  the  rest  which  He  could  find  no 
longer  in  the  rich  fields  and  on  the  green  hills  of  Genne- 
sareth.  There  were  but  few  days  of  His  earthly  life  which 
passed  through  a  series  of  more  heart-shaking  agitations 
than  the  one  which  we  shall  now  describe. 

Jesus  was  engaged  in  solitary  prayer,  probably  at  early 
dawn,  and  in  one  of  the  towns  which  formed  the  chief 
theater  of  His  Galilaean  ministry.  While  tliey  saw  Him 
standing  therewith  His  eyes  ujilifledto  heaven — for  stand- 
ing, not  kneeling,  was  and  is  the  common  Oriental  atti- 
tude in  prayer — the  disciples  remained  at  a  reverent  dis- 
tance; but  when  His  orisons  were  over,  they  came  to  Him 
witii  the  natural  entreaty  that  He  would  teach  them  to 
pray,  as  John  also  taught  His  disciples.  He  at  once 
granted  their  request,  and  taught  them  that  short  and. 
perfect  petition  which  has  thenceforth  been  the  choicest 
heritage  of  every  Christian  liturgy,  and  the  model  on  which 
all  our  best  and  most  acceptable  prayers  are  formed.  He 
had,  indeed,  already  used  it  in  the  Sei'mon  on  the  Monnt, 
but  we  may  be  deeply  thankful  that  for  tlie  sake  of  His 
asking  disciples  He  here  brougiit  it  into  greater  and  more 
separate  prominence.  Some,  indeed,  of  the  separate 
clauses  may  already  have  existed,  at  least  in  germ,  among 
the  Jewish  forms  of  prayer,  since  they  resemble  expres- 
sions which  are  found  in  the  Talmud,  and  which  we 
have  no  reason  to  suppose  were  borrowed  from  Christians. 
But  never  before  had  all  that  was  best  and  purest  in  a 
nation's  prayers  been  thus  collected  into  one  noble  and  in- 
comparable petition — a  petition  which  combines  all  that 
the  heart  of  man,  taught  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  had  found 
most  needful  for  the  satisfaction  of  its  truest  aspirations. 


244  THE  LIFE  OF  CITUTST. 

In  the  mingled  love  and  reverence  with  which  it  teaches 
ns  to  approach  our  Father  in  heaven — in  the  spirituality 
with  which  it  leads  us  to  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God 
and  His  righteousness — in  tlie  spirit  of  universal  charity 
and  forgiveness  which  it  inculcates — in  the  plural  form 
throughout  it,  which  is  meant  to  show  us  that  selfishness 
must  be  absolutely  and  forever  excluded  from  our  peti- 
tions, and  that  no  man  can  come  to  God  as  his  Father 
without  acknowledging  that  his  worst  enemies  are  also 
God's  children — in  the  fact  that  of  its  seven  petitions  one, 
and  one  only,  is  for  any  earthly  blessing,  and  even  that  one 
is  only  for  earthly  blessings  in  their  simplest  form — in  the 
manner  in  which  it  discountenances  all  the  vain  repeti- 
tions and  extravagant  self-tortures  with  which  so  many 
fanatic  worshipers  have  believed  that  God  could  be  propi- 
tiated— even  in  that  exquisite  brevity  which  shows  us  how 
little  God  desires  that  prayer  should  be  made  a  burden  and 
weariness — it  is,  indeed,  what  the  Fathers  have  called  it,  a 
hreviarium  Evangelii — -the  pearl  of  prayers. 

Not  less  divine  were  the  earnest  and  simple  words  which 
followed  it,  and  which  taught  the  disciples  that  men  ought 
always  to  pray  and  not  to  faint,  since,  if  importunity  pre- 
vails over  the  selfishness  of  man,  earnestness  must  be  all- 
powerful  with  the  righteousness  of  God.  Jesus  impressed 
upon  them  tiie  lesson  that  if  human  affection  can  be  trusted 
to  give  only  useful  and  kindly  gifts,  the  love  of  the  Great 
Father,  who  loves  us  all,  will,  much  more  certainly,  give 
His  best  and  highest  gift — even  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
— to  all  that  ask  Him, 

And  with  what  exquisite  yet  vivid  graciousness  are  these 
great  lessons  inculcated  !  Had  they  been  delivered  in  the 
dull,  dry,  didactic  style  of  most  moral  teaching,  how  could 
they  have  touched  the  hearts,  or  warmed  the  imaginations, 
or  fixed  themselves  indelibly  upon  the  memories  of  those 
who  heard  them  ?  But  instead  of  being  clothed  in  scho- 
lastic pedantisms,  they  were  conveyed  in  a  little  tale  founded 
on  the  most  commonplace  incidents  of  daily  life,  and  of  a 
daily  life  full  of  simplicity  and  poverty.  Journeying  at 
night  to  avoid  the  burning  heat,  a  man  arrives  at  a  friend's 
house.  The  host  is  poor,  and  has  nothing  for  him;  yet, 
because  even  at  that  late  hour  he  will  not  neglect  the 
duties  of  hospitality,  he  gets  np,  and  goes  to  the  house  of 


DEEPENING  OPPOSITION.  245 

another  friend  to  borrow  three  loaves.  But  this  other  is 
in  bed;  his  little  children  are  with  him;  his  house  is  locked 
and  barred.  To  the  gentle  and  earnest  entreaty  he  answers 
crossly  and  roughly  from  within,  "  Trouble  me  not."  But 
his  friend  knows  that  he  has  come  on  a  good  errand,  and 
he  persists  in  knocking,  till  at  last,  not  from  kind  motives, 
but  because  of  his  pertinacity,  the  man  gets  up  and  gives 
him  all  that  he  requires.  -'  Even  so,"  it  has  been  beauti- 
fully observed  "  when  the  heart  which  has  been  away  on  a 
journey,  suddenly  at  midnight  [i.e.,  the  time  of  greatest 
darkness  and  distress)  returns  home  to  us — that  is,  comes 
to  itself  and  feels  hunger — and  we  have  nothing  wliere- 
with  to  satisfy  it,  God  requires  of  us  bold,  importunate 
faith."  If  such  persistency  conquers  the  reluctance  of  un- 
gracious man,  how  much  more  shall  it  prevail  with  One 
who  loves  us  better  than  we  ourselves,  and  who  is  even 
more  ready  to  hear  than  we  to  pray  ! 

It  has  been  well  observed  that  the  narrative  of  the  life 
of  Christ  on  earth  is  full  of  lights  and  shadows — one  brief 
period,  or  even  one  day,  starting  at  times  into  strong  relief, 
wliile  at  other  times  whole  periods  are  passed  over  in  un- 
broken silence.  But  we  forget— and  if  we  bear  this  in 
mind  there  will  be  nothing  to  startle  us  in  this  phenome- 
non of  the  Gospel  record — we  forget  how  large  and  how 
necessary  a  portion  of  His  work  it  was  to  teach  and  train 
His  immediate  Apostles  for  the  future  conversion  of  the 
world.  When  we  compare  what  the  Apostles  were  when 
Jesus  called  them — simple  and  noble  indeed,  but  ignorant, 
and  timid,  and  slow  of  heart  to  believe — with  what  they 
became  when  he  had  departed  from  them,  and  shed  the 
gift  of  His  Holy  Spirit  into  t\\e\v  hearts,  then  we  shall  see 
how  little  intermission  there  could  have  been  in  His  benefi- 
cent activity,  even  during  the  periods  in  which  His  dis- 
courses were  delivered  to  those  only  who  lived  in  the  very 
light  of  His  divine  personality.  Blessed  indeed  were  they 
above  kings  and  prophets,  blessed  beyond  all  who  have 
ever  lived  in  the  richness  of  their  privilege,  since  they 
could  share  His  inmost  thoughts,  and  watch  in  all  its 
angelic  sweetness  and  siin[)li(!ity  the  daily  spectacle  of  those 
**  sinless  years."  But  if  this  blessing  was  specially  ac- 
corded to  them,  it  was  not  for  their  own  sakes,  but  for  the 
sake  of  tl)afc  world    which  it  was  their  mission  to  elevate 


246  THE  LIFE  OF  CHUTST. 

from  despair  and  wickedness  into  purity  and  sober-mind- 
edness and  truth — for  the  sake  of  those  holy  hearts  who 
were  henceforth  to  enjoy  a  Presence  nearer,  though  spirit- 
ual, than  if,  with  the  Apostles,  they  could  have  climbed 
"with  Him  the  lonely  hills,  or  walked  beside  Him  as  He 
paced  at  evening  beside  the  limpid  lake. 

The  day  which  had  begun  with  that  lesson  of  loving  and 
confiding  prayer  was  not  destined  to  proceed  thus  calmly. 
Few  days  of  His  life  during  these  years  can  have  passed 
without  His  being  brought  into  distressing  contact  with 
the  evidences  of  human  sin  and  human  suffering;  but  on 
this  day  the  spectacle  was  brought  before  Him  in  its 
wildest  and  most  terrible  form.  A  man  blind  and  dumb 
and  mad,  from  those  strange,  unaccountable  influences 
which  the  universal  belief  attributed  to  demoniac  posses- 
sion, was  brought  before  Him.  Jesus  would  not  leave  him 
a  helpless  victim  to  the  powers  of  evil.  By  His  look  and 
by  His  word  He  released  the  miserable  ?ufferer  from  the 
horrible  oppression — calmed,  healed,  restored  him — "inso- 
much that  the  blind  and  dumb  both  spake  and  saw." 

It  appears  from  our  Lord's  own  subsequent  words  that 
there  existed  among  the  Jews  certain  forms  of  exorcism, 
which  to  a  certain  extent,  at  any  rate,  were  efficacious  ; 
but  there  are  traces  that  the  cures  so  effected  were  only 
attempted  in  milder  and  simpler  cases.  The  dissolution 
of  so  hideous  a  spell  as  that  which  had  bound  this  man — 
the  power  to  pour  light  on  the  filmed  eyeball,  and  to  restore 
speech  to  the  cramped  tongue,  and  intelligence  to  the 
bewildered  soul — was  something  that  the  people  had  never 
witnessed.  The  miracle  produced  a  thrill  of  astonish- 
ment, a  burst  of  unconcealed  admiration.  For  the  first 
time  they  openly  debated  whether  He  who  had  such  power 
could  be  any  other  than  their  expected  Deliverer.  "Can 
this  man,"  they  incredulously  asked,  "can  he  be  the  son 
of  David  ?" 

His  enemies  could  not  deny  that  a  great  miracle  had 
been  performed,  and  since  it  did  not  convert,  it  only 
hardened  and  maddened  them,  lint  how  could  they 
dissipate  the  deep  impression  which  it  had  made  on  the 
minds  of  the  amazed  spectators  ?  The  Scribes  who  came 
from  Jerusalem,  more  astute  and  ready  tlian  their  simple 
Galilaean  brethren,  at  once  invented  a  ready  device  for  this 


DEEPENING  OPPOSITION.  247 

purpose.  ''  This  fellow  hath  Beelzebiil  " — such  was  their 
notable  and  insolent  solution  of  the  ditiiculty, — "  and  it  is 
only  by  the  prince  of  the  devils  that  He  casteth  out  the 
devils."  Strange  that  tlie  ready  answer  did  not  spring  to 
every  lip,  as  it  did  afterward  to  the  lips  of  some  who 
heard  the  same  charge  brought  against  Him  in  Jerusalem, 
**  These  are  not  the  words  of  one  that  hath  a  devil."  But 
the  people  of  Galilee  were  credulous  and  ignorant ;  these 
grave  and  reverend  inquisitors  from  the  Holy  City 
possessed  an  immense  and  hereditary  ascendancy  over  their 
simple  understandings,  and,  offended  as  they  had  been 
more  than  once  by  the  words  of  Jesus,  their  whole  minds 
were  bewildered  with  a  doubt.  The  awfulness  of  His 
personal  ascendancy — the  felt  presence,  even  amid  His 
tenderest  condescensions,  of  sometliing  more  than  human 
— His  power  of  reading  the  thoughts — the  ceaseless  and 
sleepless  energy  of  His  beneficence — the  strange  terror 
which  He  inspii'ed  in  the  poor  demoniacs — the  speech 
which  sometimes  rose  into  impassioned  energy  of  denun- 
ciation, and  sometimes,  by  its  softness  and  beauty,  held 
them  hushed  as  infants  at  the  mother's  breast — the 
revulsion  of  their  unbelieving  hearts  against  that  new 
world  of  fears  and  hopes  whicli  He  preached  to  them  as 
the  kingdom  of  God — in  a  word,  the  shuddering  sense  that 
in  some  way  His  mere  look  and  presence  phiced  them  in  a 
nearer  relation  than  they  had  ever  been  before  with  the 
Unseen  World — all  this,  as  it  had  not  prepared  them  to 
accept  the  truth,  tended  from  the  first  to  leave  them  the 
ready  victims  of  insolent,  blasphemous,  and  authoritative 
falsehood. 

And  therefore,  in  a  few  calm  words,  Jesus  shattered  the 
hideous  sophism  to  atoms.  He  showed  them  the  gross 
absurdity  of  supposing  that  Satan  could  be  his  own  enemy. 
Using  an  irresistible  argumentum  ad  liominem,  He  con- 
victed them  by  an  appeal  to  tlie  exorcisms  so  freely,  but 
almost  ineffectually,  professed  by  themselves  and  their 
pupils.  And  when  He  had  thus  showed  that  the  power 
which  He  exercised  must  be  at  once  superior  to  Satan  and 
contrary  to  Satan,  and  must  thei'efoi'e  be  spiritual  and 
divine.  He  warned  them  of  the  awful  sinfulness  and  peril 
of  this  their  blasphemy  a,,^ainst  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God, 
and  how  nearly  it  bordered  on  the  verge  of  that  sin  which 


248  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

alone,  of  all  sins,  conlcl  neither  here  nor  hereafter  be  for- 
given. And  tlien,  after  these  dim  and  mysterious  warn- 
ings, speaking  to  thorn  in  language  of  yet  plainer  signifi- 
cance, lie  turned  tlie  light  of  truth  into  their  raging  and 
hy])ocritical  hearts,  and  showed  them  how  this  Dead  Sea 
fruit  of  falsehood  and  calumny  could  only  spring  from 
roots  and  fibers  of  hidden  bitterness  ;  how  only  from  evil 
treasures  hid  deep  in  darkness,  where  the  very  source  of 
light  was  quenched,  could  be  produced  these  dark 
imaginings  of  their  serpentine  malignity.  Lastly,  and 
with  a  Tiote  of  warning  which  has  never  since  ceased  to 
vibrate,  He  warned  them  that  the  words  of  man  reveal  the 
true  nature  of  the  lieart  within,  and  that  for  tiiose,  as  for 
all  other  false  and  lightly  uttered  words  of  idle  wickedness, 
they  shoukl  give  account  at  the  last  day.  The  weight  and 
majesty  of  these  words — the  awful  solemnity  of  the 
admonition  which  they  conveyed — seem  for  a  time  to  have 
reduced  the  Pharisees  to  silence,  aiul  to  have  checked  the 
reiteration  of  their  absurd  and  audacious  blasphemy.  And 
in  the  hush  that  ensued  some  women  of  the  company,  in 
an  uncontrollable  enthusiasm  of  admiration — accustomed 
indeed  to  reverence  these  long-robed  Pharisees,  with  their 
fringes  and  phylacteries,  but  feeling  to  the  depth  of  her 
heart  on  how  lofty  a  height  above  them  the  Speaker  stood 
— exclaimed  to  Him  in  a  loud  voice,  so  that  all  could 
hear : 

"  Blessed  is  the  womb  that  bare  Thee,  and  the  breasts 
that  Thou  hast  sucked." 

*'Yea" — or  as  we  may  render  it — "Nay,  rather,"  He 
answered,  "  hlessed  are  they  that  hear  the  Word  of  God, 
and  keep  it." 

The  woman,  with  all  the  deep  and  passionate  affection  of 
her  sex,  had  cried.  How  blest  must  be  the  mother  of  such 
a  Son  !  and  blessed  indeed  that  mother  was,  and  blessed 
was  the  fruit  of  her  womb — blessed  she  was  among  women, 
and  blessed  because  she  believed  :  yet  hers  was  no  exclusive 
blessedness  ;  there  is  a  blessedness  yet  deeper  and  loftier, 
the  blessedness  of  obedience  to  the  Word  of  God.  "How 
many  women,"  says  St.  Chrysostom,  "  have  blessed  that 
Holy  Virgin,  and  desired  to  be  such  a  mother  as  she  was! 
What  hinders  them  ?  Christ  has  made  for  us  a  wide  way 
to  this  happiness,  and  not  only  women,  but  men,  may  troad 


DEEPENING  OPPOSIIION  249 

it — the  way  of  obedience  ;  this  it  is  which  makes  such  a 
motlier,  not  the  throes  of  parturition." 

But  tlie  Pharisees,  though  baffled  for  a  moment,  did  not 
intend  to  leave  Jesus  long  in  peace.  He  had  spoken  to 
them  in  language  of  lofty  warning,  nay,  even  of  stern  re- 
buke— to  them,  the  leaders  and  religious  teachers  of  His 
time  and  country.  What  gave  such  boldness  to  one — 
a  mere  "empty  cistern,"'  a  mere  am  Ita-arets — who  had 
but  just  emerged  from  the  obscure  and  ignorant  labors  of 
a  provincial  artisan  ?  how  did  he  dare  thus  to  address 
them  ?  Let  him  at  least  show  them  some  sign — some  sign 
from  heaven,  no  mere  exorcism  or  act  of  healing,  but  some 
great,  indisputable,  decisive  sign  of  His  authority.  '•  Mas- 
ter, we  would  see  a  sign  from  Thee." 

It  was  the  old  question  which  had  assailed  Him  at  His 
very  earliest  ministry.  ''  What  sign  shovvest  Thou  unto 
us,  seeing  that  Thou  doest  these  things  ?" 

To  such  appeals,  made  oidy  to  insult  and  tempt — made 
by  men  who,  unconvinced  and  unsoftened,  had  just  seen  a 
mighty  sign,  and  had  attributed  it  at  once  without  a  blush 
to  demoniac  agency — made,  not  from  hearts  of  faith,  but  out 
of  curiosity,  and  hatred,  and  unbelief — Jesus  always  turned 
a  deaf  ear.  The  Divine  does  not  condescend  to  limit  the 
display  of  its  powers  by  the  conditions  of  finite  criticism, 
nor  is  it  conformable  to  the  council  of  God  to  effect  the 
conversion  of  human  souls  by  their  mere  astonishment  at 
external  signs.  Had  Jesus  given  them  a  sign  from  heaven, 
is  it  likely  that  it  would  have  produced  any  effect  on  the 
spiritual  children  of  ancestors  who,  according  to  their 
own  accepted  history,  in  the  very  sight,  nay,  under 
the  very  precipices  of  the  burning  hill,  had  sat  down 
to  eat  and  to  drink,  and  risen  up  to  play  ?  AVould 
in  have  had  any  permanent  significance  for  the  moral 
heirs  of  those  who  were  taunted  by  their  own  proph- 
ets with  having  taken  up  the  tabernacles  of  Moloch, 
and  the  star  of  their  god  Remphan,  though  they  were 
guided  by  the  fiery  j)illar,  and  queiudied  their  thirst  from 
the  smitten  rock  ?  Signs  they  had  seeii  and  wonders  in 
abundance,  and  now  they  were  seeitig  the  highest  signs  of 
a  Sinless  Life,  ami  yet  they  did  but  rebel  and  blaspheme 
the  more.  No  sign  should  be  given,  then,  save  the  proph- 
ecies   which    they   could     not    understand.       "That   evil 


250  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Jind  atlnlterous  generation,"  He  exchiimed,  turning  to  tlie 
densely  crowded  multitude,  "should  have  no  sign,  save 
the  sign  of  Jonali  the  prophet.  Saved  after  a  day  and 
night  amid  the  dark  and  tempestuous  sea,  he  had  been  a  sign 
to  the  Ninevites ;  so  should  the  Son  of  Man  be  saved 
from  the  heart  of  the  earth.  And  those  men  of  Nineveh, 
who  repented  at  the  preaching  of  Jonah,  and  the  Queen  of 
Sheba,  who  came  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  hear  the 
wisdom  of  Solomon,  should  alike  rise  up  in  the  judgment 
and  condemn  a  generation  that  despised  and  rejected  one 
greater  than  Solomon  or  than  Jonah.  For  that  genera- 
tion had  received  every  blessing  :  by  the  Babylonian  cap- 
tivity, by  the  Maccabaean  revival,  by  the  wise  and  noble  rule 
of  the  Asmontean  princes,  recently  by  the  preaching  of 
John,  the  evil  spii'it  of  idolatry  and  rebellion  which  dis- 
tempered their  fathers  had  been  cast  out  of  them  ;  its  old 
abode  had  been  swept  and  garnished  by  the  proprieties  of 
Pharisees,  and  the  scrupulosities  of  Scribes  ;  but,  alas  !  no 
good  spirit  had  been  invited  to  occupy  the  empty  shrine, 
and  now  the  old  unclean  possessor  had  returned  with  seven 
spirits  more  wicked  than  himself,  and  their  last  state  was 
worse  than  the  first." 

His  discourse  was  broken  at  this  point  by  a  sudden 
interruption.  News  had  again  reached  His  family  that 
He  was  surrounded  by  a  dense  throng,  and  was  speaking 
words  more  strange  and  terrible  than  ever  He  had  been 
known  to  utter  ;  above  all,  that  He  had  repudiated  with 
open  scorn,  and  denounced  with  uncompromising  indigna- 
tion, the  great  teachers  who  had  been  expressly  sent  from 
Jerusalem  to  watch  His  words.  Alarm  seized  them  ;  per- 
liaps  their  informatit  had  whispered  to  them  the  dread 
calumny  which  had  called  forth  His  stern  rebukes.  From 
the  little  which  we  can  learn  of  His  brethren,  we  infer  that 
they  were  Hebrews  of  the  Hebrews,  and  likely  to  be  in- 
tensely influenced  by  Rabbinical  and  sacerdotal  authority; 
as  yet,  too,  they  either  did  not  believe  on  Him,  or  regarded 
His  claims  in  a  very  imperfect  light.  Is  not  the  time  again 
come  for  them  to  interfere  ?  can  they  not  save  Jesus,  on 
whom  they  looked  as  tlteir  Jesus,  from  Himself?  can  they  not 
exercise  over  Him  such  influence  as  shall  save  Him  from  the 
deadly  perils  to  which  His  present  teaching  would  obviously 
-expose  Him  ?  can   they  not  use  toward  Him  such  gentle 


THE  DA  Y  OF  CONFLICT.  251 

control  as  should  hurry  Him  away  for  a  time  into  some 
region  of  secrecy  and  safety  ?  They  could  not,  indeed, 
reach  Him  in  the  crowd,  but  they  could  get  some  one  to 
call  His  attention  to  their  presence.  Suddenly  He  is  in- 
formed by  one  of  His  audience — "  Behold,  Thy  mother 
and  Thy  brethren  stand  without,  desiring  to  speak  with 
Thee/'  Alas',  had  they  not  yet  learnt  that  if  they  would 
not  enter,  their  sole  right  place  was  to  stand  without?  that 
His  hour  was  now  come  to  pass  far  beyond  the  circle  of 
mere  human  relationsliip,  infinitely  above  the  control  of 
human  brethren?  Must  their  bold  intrusive  spirit  receive 
one  more  check?  It  was  even  so;  but  the  check  should  be 
given  gently,  and  so  as  to  be  an  infinite  comfort  to  others. 
"Who  is  My  mother?''  He  said  to  the  man  who  had 
spoken,  "and  who  are  My  brethren?"  x\nd  then  stretch- 
ing forth  His  hand  toward  His  disciples.  He  said,  "  Behokl 
My  mother  and  ily  brethre?i!  For  wliosoever  shall  do  the 
will  of  My  Father  which  is  in  heaven,  the  same  is  My 
brother,  and  sister,  and  mother!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIIl. 

THE     DAY     OF     CONFLICT. 

Up  to  this  point  the  events  of  this  great  day  had  been 
sufficiently  agitating,  but  they  were  followed  by  circum- 
stances yet  more  painful  and  exciting. 

The  time  for  tlie  midday  meal  had  arrived,  and  a  Phar- 
isee asked  Him  to  come  and  lunch  at  his  house.  There 
was  extremely  little  hospitality  or  courtesy  in  the  invita- 
tion. If  not  offered  in  downright  hostility  and  bad  faith 
— as  we  know  was  the  case  with  similar  Pharisaic  invita- 
tions— its  motive  at  the  best  was  but  curiosity  to  see  more 
or  the  new  Teacher,  or  a  vanity  which  prompted  him  to 
patronize  so  prominent  a  guest.  And  Jesus,  on  entering, 
found  Himself,  not  among  publicans  and  sinners,  where 
He  could  soothe,  and  teach,  and  bless — not  among  the 
poor  to  vvhom  Pie  could  preach  the  kingdom  of  heaven — 
not  among  friends  and  disciples  who  listened  with  deep 
and  loving  reverence  to  His  words — but  among  the  cold, 
hard,  threatening  faces,  the  sneers  and  frowns,  of  haughty 


253  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

rivals  and  open  enemies.  The  Apostles  do  not  seem  to 
have  been  invited.  There  was  no  sympathy  of  a  Thomas 
to  sustain  Him,  no  gentleness  of  a  Nathanael  to  enconrage 
Ilim,  no  ardor  of  a  Peter  to  defend,  no  beloved  John  to 
lean  his  head  upon  Ilis  breast.  Scribe,  Lawyer  and  Phar- 
isee, the  guests  ostentatiously  performed  their  artistic  ablu- 
tions, and  then — each  with  extreme  regard  for  his  own 
precedence — swept  to  their  places  at  the  board.  With  no 
such  elaborate  and  fantastic  ceremonies,  Jesus,  as  soon  as 
He  entered,  reclined  at  the  table.  It  was  a  short  and 
trivial  meal,  and  outside  throngerj  the  dense  multitude, 
hungering  still  and  thirsting  for  the  words  of  etermil  life. 
He  did  not  choose,  therefore,  to  create  idle  delays  and 
countenance  a  needless  ritualism  by  washings,  which  at 
that  moment  happened  to  be  quite  superfluous,  and  to 
which  a  foolish  and  pseudo  -  religious  importance  was 
attached. 

Instantly  the  supercilious  astonishment  of  the  host 
expiessed  itself  in  his  countenance  ;  and,  doubtless,  the 
lifted  eyebrows  and  deprecating  gestures  of  those  nnsym- 
pathizing  guests  showed  as  much  as  they  dared  to  show  of 
their  disapproval  and  contempt.  They  were  forgetting 
ntterly  who  He  was,  and  what  He  had  done.  Spies  and 
calumniators  from  the  first,  they  were  now  debasing  even 
their  pretentious  and  patronizing  hospitality  into  fresh 
opportunity  for  treacherous  conspii'acy.  The  time  was 
come  for  yet  plainer  language,  for  yet  more  unmeasured 
indignation;  and  He  did  not  spare  them.  He  exposed, 
in  words  which  were  no  parables  and  could  not  be  mis- 
taken, the  extent  to  whicii  their  outward  cleanliness  was 
but  the  thin  film  which  covered  their  inward  wickedness 
and  greed.  He  denounced  their  contemptible  scrupulosity 
in  the  tithing  of  pot-herbs,  tlieir  flagrant  neglect  of  essen- 
tial virtues ;  the  cant,  the  ambition,  the  publicity,  the 
ostentation  of  their  outward  orthodoxy,  the  deathful  cor- 
ruption of  their  inmost  hearts.  Hidden  graves  were  they 
over  whicli  men  walkj  and,  without  knowing  it,  become 
defiled. 

And  at  this  point,  one  of  the  lawyers  who  were  present — 
some  learned  professor,  some  orthodox  Masoret — ventures 
to  interrupt  the  majestic  torrent  of  His  rebuke.  He  had, 
perhaps,  imagined  that  tlic  youthful  Prophet  of  Nazareth 


THE  DAY  OF  CONFLICT.  253 

—  He  who  was  so  meek  and  lowly  of  heart  —  He  whose 
words  amoug  the  multitude  had  hitherto  breathed  the 
spirit  of  such  infinite  tenderness — was  too  gentle,  too  lov- 
ing, to  be  in  earnest.  He  thought,  perhaps,  that  a  word 
of  interpolation  miglit  check  the  rushing  storm  of  His 
awakened  wrath.  He  had  not  yet  learnt  that  no  strong  or 
great  character  can  be  devoid  of  the  elen)ent  of  holy  anger. 
And  so,  ignorant  of  all  that  was  passing  in  the  Saviour's 
mind,  amazed  that  people  of  such  high  distinction  could 
be  thus  plainly  and  severely  dealt  with,  he  murmured  in 
deprecatory  tones,  "  Master,  thus  saying,  thou  i-eproachest 
us  also!" 

Yes,  He  reproached  them  also:  they,  too,  heaped  on  the 
shoulders  of  others  the  burdens  which  tliemselves  refused 
to  bear;  they,  too,  built  the  sepulchers  of  the  prophets 
whom  their  sires  had  slain  ;  they,  too,  set  their  backs 
against  the  door  of  knowledge,  and  held  the  key,  so  that 
none  could  enter  in  ;  on  them,  too,  as  on  all  that  guilty 
generation,  should  come  the  blood  of  all  the  prophets,  from 
the  blood  of  Abel  to  the  blood  of  Zacharias,  who  perislied 
between  the  altar  and  the  Temple. 

The  same  discourse,  but  yet  fuller  and  more  terrible, 
was  subsequently  uttered  by  Jesus  in  the  Temple  of  Jeru- 
salem in  the  last  great  week  of  His  life  on  earth  ;  but  thus 
did  He,  on  this  occasion,  liurl  down  upon  them  from  the 
heaven  of  His  moral  superiority  the  first  heart-scathing 
lightnings  of  His  seven-times-uttered  woe.  They  thought, 
perhaps,  that  He  would  have  been  deceived  by  their  specious 
smoothnessand  hypocritical  hospitality;  but  He  knew  that 
it  was  not  out  of  true  heart  that  they  offered  Him  even  the 
barest  courtesies  of  life.  The  fact  that  He  was  alone 
among  them,  and  that  He  should  have  been,  as  it  were, 
betrayed  into  such  company,  was  but  an  additional  reason 
why  the  flames  of  warning  and  judgment  should  thus  play 
abo'ut  their  heads,  which  hereafter,  nidess  they  repented, 
should  strike  them  to  the  earth.  Not  for  an  instant  could 
they  succeed  in  deceiving  Him.  There  is  a  spurious  kind- 
ness, a  bitter  semblance  of  friendship,  which  deserves  no 
respect.  It  may  pass  current  in  the  realms  of  empty 
fashion  and  hollow  civility,  where  often  the  words  of  men's 
mouths  are  softer  than  butter,  having  war  in  their  heart, 
and  where,  though  their  throat  is  an  open  sepulcher,  they 


254  THE  LIFE  OF  CUBIST. 

flatter  with  their  tongue  ;  but  it  shrivels  to  nothing  before 
the  refining  fire  of  a  Divine  iliscernnient,  and  leaves  noth- 
ing but  a  sickening  futne  behind.  The  time  had  come  for 
Him  to  show  to  these  hypocrites  how  well  he  knew  the  de- 
eeitfulness  of  their  hearts,  how  deeply  he  hated  the  wicked- 
ness of  their  lives. 

They  felt  that  it  was  an  open  rupture.  The  feast  broke 
up  in  confusion.  The  Scribes  and  Pharisees  threw  off  the 
mask.  From  fawning  friends  and  interested  inquirers, 
they  suddenly  sprang  up  in  their  true  guise  as  deadly 
opponents.  They  surrounded  Jesus,  they  piessed  upon 
Him  vehemently,  persistently,  almost  threateningly  ;  they 
began  to  pour  upon  Him  a  flood  of  questions,  to  examine, 
to  catechise  Him,  to  try  and  force  words  out  of  Him, 
lying  in  ambush,  like  eager  hunters,  to  spring  upon  any 
confession  of  ignorance,  on  any  mistake  of  fact — above  all, 
on  any  trace  of  heresy  on  which  they  might  found  that 
legal  accusation  by  which  before  long  they  hoped  to  put 
Him  down. 

How  Jesus  escaped  from  this  unseemly  spectacle — how 
He  was  able  to  withdraw  Himself  from  this  display  of  hos- 
tility— we  are  not  told.  Probably  it  might  be  sufficient  for 
Him  to  wave  His  enemies  aside,  and  bid  them  leave  Him 
free  to  go  forth  again.  For,  meanwhile,  the  crowd  had 
gained  some  suspicion,  or  received  some  intimation,  of 
what  was  going  on  within.  Tliey  had  suddenly  gath- 
ered in  dense  myriads,  actually  treading  on  each  other 
in  their  haste  and  eagerness.  Perhaps  a  dull,  wrathful 
murmur  from  without  warned  the  Pharisees  in  time  that  it 
might  be  dangerous  to  'proceed  too  far,  and  Jesus  came 
out  to  the  multitude  with  His  whole  spirit  still  aglow  with 
the  just  and  mighty  indignation  by  which  it  had  been  per- 
vaded. Instantly — addressing  primarily  His  own  disciples, 
but  through  them  the  listening  thousands — He  broke  out 
with  a  solemn  warning,  '*  Beware  ye  of  the  leaven  of  the 
Pharisees,  which  is  hypocj'isy."  He  warned  them  that 
tiiere  was  One  before  whose  eye — ten  thousand  times 
brighter  than  the  sun — secrecy  was  impossible.  He  bade 
tiiem  not  be  afraid  of  man — a  fear  to  which  the  sad  per- 
turbances  of  these  last  few  days  might  well  have  inclined 
them — but  to  fear  Him  who  could  not  only  destroy  the 
body,  but  cast  the  soul  also  into  the  Gehenna  of  fire.     The 


THE  DA  T  OF  CONFLICT.  256 

God  who  loved  them  would  care  for  them  ;  and  the  Son  of 
Man  would,  before  the  angels  of  God,  confess  them  who 
confessed  Him  before  men. 

While  He  was  thus  addressing  them,  His  discourse  was 
broken  in  upon  by  a  most  inopportune  interruption — not 
this  time  of  hostility,  not  of  ill-timed  interference,  not  of 
overpowering  admiration,  but  of  simple  policy  and  self- 
interest.  Some  covetous  and  half-instructed  member  of 
the  crowd,  seeing  the  listening  throngs,  hearing  the  words 
of  authority  and  power,  aware  of  the  recent  discomfiture  of 
the  Pharisees,  expecting,  perhaps,  some  immediate  revela- 
tion of  Messianic  power,  determined  to  ntilize  the  occasion 
for  his  own  worldly  ends.  He  thought,  if  the  expression 
maybe  allowed,  that  he  could  do  a  good  stroke  of  business, 
and  most  incongruously  and  irreverently  broke  in  with  the 
request: 

"  Master,  speak  to  my  brother,  that  he  divide  the  in- 
heritance with  me." 

Almost  stern  was  our  Lord's  rebuke  to  the  man's  egregi- 
ous self-absorption.  He  seems  to  have  been  one  of  those 
not  uncommon  characters  to  whom  the  whole  universe  is 
pervaded  by  self  ;  and  he  seems  to  have  considered  that 
the  main  object  of  the  Messiah's  coming  would  be  to  secure 
for  him  a  share  of  his  inheritance,  and  to  overrule  this  un- 
manageable brother.  Jesus  at  once  dispelled  his  miserably 
carnal  expectations,  and  then  warned  him,  and  all  who 
heard,  to  beware  of  letting  the  narrow  horizon  of  earthly 
comforts  span  their  hopes.  How  brief,  yet  how  rich  in 
significance,  is  that  little  parable  which  He  told  them,  of 
the  rich  fool  who,  in  his  greedy,  God-forgetting,  pre- 
sumptuous selfishness,  would  do  this  and  that,  and  who, 
as  though  there  were  no  such  thing  as  death,  and  as  though 
the  soul  could  live  by  bread,  thought  that  "my  fruits"  and 
"my  goods,"  and  "my  barns,"  and  to  "eat  and  drink 
and  be  merry,"  could  for  many  years  to  come  sustain  what 
was  left  him  of  a  soul,  but  to  whom  from  heaven  pealed 
as  a  teri'ible  echo  to  his  words  the  heart-thrilling  sentence 
of  awful  irony,  "  Tliou  fool,  this  night!" 

And  then  our  Lord  expanded  the  thought.  He  told 
them  that  the  life  was  more  than  meat,  and  the  body  than 
I'aiment.  Again  He  reminded  them  how  God  clothes,  in 
more  than  Solomon's  glory,  the  untoiling  lilies,  and  feeds 


256  THE  LIFE  OF  CJIRrsT. 

the  curek'ss  ravens  tluit  neither  sow  nor  reap.  Food  and 
raiment,  and  the  multitude  of  possessions,  were  not  life  : 
f7iei/  had  better  things  to  seek  after  and  to  look  for;  let 
them  not  be  tossed  on  this  troubled  sea  of  faithless  care  ; 
be  theirs  the  life  of  fearless  hope,  of  freest  charity,  the  life 
of  the  girded  loin  and  the  burning  lamp  —  as  servants 
watching  and  waiting  for  the  unknown  moment  of  their 
lord's  return. 

The  remarks  had  mainly  been  addressed  to  the  disciples, 
though  the  multitudes  also  heard  them,  and  were  by  no 
means  excluded  from  their  import.  But  here  Peter's 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he  asks  "  whether  the 
parable  was  meant  specially  for  them,  or  even  for  all?" 

To  that  question  our  Lord  did  not  reply,  and  His  silence 
was  the  best  reply.  Only  let  each  man  see  that  he  was 
that  faithful  and  wise  servant ;  blessed  indeed  should  he 
then  be;  but  terrible  in  exact  proportion  to  his  knowledge 
and  his  privileges  should  be  the  fate  of  the  gluttonous, 
cruel,  faithless  drunkard  whom  the  Lord  should  surprise 
in  the  midst  of  his  iniquities. 

A.nd  then — at  the  thought  of  that  awful  judgment — a 
solemn  agonypassed  over  the  spirit  of  Christ.  He  thought 
of  the  rejected  peace,  which  should  end  in  furious  war;  he 
thought  of  the  divided  households  and  the  separated 
friends.  He  had  a  baptism  to  be  baptised  with,  and  His 
soul  was  sti-aitened  with  anguish  till  it  was  accomplished. 
He  had  come  to  fling  fire  upon  the  earth,  and  oh,  that  it 
were  already  kindled  I — that  tire  was  as  a  spiritual  baptism, 
the  refining  fire,  which  should  at  once  inspire  and  blind, 
at  once  illuminate  and  destroy,  at  once  harden  the  clay 
and  melt  the  gold.  And  here  we  are  reminded  of  one  of 
those  remarkable  though  only  traditional  utterances  attrib- 
uted to  Christ,  which  may  possibly  have  been  connected 
with  the  thought  here  expressed: 

"He  who  is  near  me  is  near  the  fire!  he  who  is  far  from 
me  is  far  from  the  kingdom." 

But  from  these  sad  thoughts  He  once  more  descended 
to  the  immediate  needs  of  the  multitude.  From  the  red- 
dening heaven,  from  the  rising  clouds,  they  could  foretell 
that  the  showers  would  fall  or  that  the  burning  wind 
would  blow — why  could  they  not  discern  the  signs  of  the 
times?     Were  they  not  looking  into  the  far-off  fields  of 


AMONG  THE  HEATHEN.  257 

heaven  for  signs  which  were  in  the  air  they  breathed,  and 
on  tlie  ground  they  trod  upon;  and,  most  of  all — had  they 
been  searched  rightly — in  the  state  of  their  own  inmost 
souls?  If  they  would  see  the  star  which  should  at  once 
direct  their  feet  and  influence  their  destiny,  they  must 
look  for  it,  not  in  the  changing  skies  of  outward  circum- 
stance, but  each  in  the  depth  of  his  own  heart.  Let  them 
seize  the  present  opportunity  to  make  peace  with  God. 
For  men  and  for  nations  the  "  too  late  "  comes  at  last. 

And  there  the  discourse  seems  lo  have  ended.  It  was 
the  last  time  for  many  days  that  they  were  to  hear  His 
words.  Surrounded  by  enemies  who  were  not  only  power- 
ful, but  now  deeply  exasperated — obnoxious  to  the  imme- 
diate courtiers  of  the  very  king  in  whose  dominion  He  was 
living — dogged  by  the  open  hatred  and  secret  conspiracies 
of  spies  whom  the  multitude  had  been  taught  to  reverence 
— feeling  that  the  people  understood  Him  not,  and  that  in 
the  minds  of  their  leaders  and  teachers  sentence  of  death 
and  condemnation  had  already  been  passed  upon  Him — 
He  turned  His  back  for  a  time  upon  His  native  land,  and 
went  to  seek  in  idolatrous  and  alien  cities  the  rest  and 
peace  which  were  denied  Him  in  His  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AMOXG    THE    HEATHEN". 

"Then  Jesus  went  thence,  and  departed  into  the 
regions  of  Tyre  and  Sid  on." 

Such  is  the  brief  notice  which  prefaces  the  few  and 
scanty  records  of  a  period  of  His  life  and  work  of  which, 
had  it  been  vouchsafed  to  us,  we  should  have  been  deeply 
interested  to  learn  something  more.  But  only  a  single 
incident  of  this  visit  to  heathendom  has  been  recorded. 
It  might  have  seemed  that  in  that  distant  region  there 
would  be  a  certainty,  not  of  safety  only,  but  even  of  re- 
pose; but  it  was  not  so.  We  have  already  seen  traces  that 
the  fame  of  His  miracles  had  penetrated  even  to  the  old 
Phoenician  cities,  and  no  sooner  had  He  reached  tlieir 
neighborhood  than  it  became  evident  tliat  He  could  not 
be  hid.     A  woman  sought  for  Him,  a?i(l  followed  the  little 


258  THE  LIFE  OF  GUniST. 

company  of  wayfarers  with  passionate  entreaties — "  Have 
mercy  on  me,  0  Lord,  Thou  Son  of  David  :  my  daughter 
is  grievously  vexed  with  a  devil." 

We  might  have  imagined  that  our  Lord  would  answer 
such  a  prayer  with  immediate  and  tender  approbation,  and 
all  the  more  because,  in  granting  her  petition.  He  would 
symbolically  liave  been  'representing  the  extension  of  His 
kingdom  to  the  three  greatest  branches  of  the  Pagan  world. 
For  this  woman  was  by  birth  a  Canaanite,  and  a  Syro- 
Phoenician;  by  position  a  Roman  subject;  by  culture  and 
language  a  Greek;  and  her  appeal  for  mei-cy  to  the  Messiah 
of  the  Chosen  People  might  well  look  like  the  first  fruits 
of  that  harvest  in  which  the  good  seed  should  spring  up 
hereafter  iu  Tyre,  and  Sidon,  and  Carthage,  and  Greece, 
and  Rome.  But  Jesus — and  is  not  this  one  of  the  number- 
less indications  that  we  are  dealing,  not  with  loose  and 
false  tradition,  but  with  solid  fact  ? — "Jesus  answered  her 
not  a  word." 

In  no  other  single  instance  are  we  told  of  a  similar  ap- 
parent coldness  on  the  part  of  Christ  ;  nor  are  we  here 
informed  of  the  causes  which  influenced  His  actions. 
Two  alone  suggest  themselves  :  He  may  have  desired  to 
test  the  feelings  of  His  disciples,  who,  in  the  narrow  spirit  of 
Judaic  exclusiveness,  might  be  unprepared  to  see  Him  grant 
His  blessings,  not  only  to  a  Gentile,  but  a  Camianite,  and 
descendant  of  the  accursed  race.  It  was  true  that  He  had 
healed  the  servant  of  the  centurion,  but  he  was  perhaps  a 
Roman,  certainly  a  benefactor  to  the  Jews,  and  in  all 
probability  a  proselyte  of  the  gate.  But  it  is  more  likely 
that,  knowing  what  would  follow.  He  may  have  desired  to 
test  yet  further  t!ie  woman's  faith,  both  that  he  might 
crown  it  with  a  more  complete  and  glorious  reward,  and 
that  she  might  learn  something  deeper  respecting  Him 
than  the  mere  Jewish  title  that  she  may  have  accidentally 
picked  up.  And  fui'ther  than  this,  since  every  miracle  is 
also  rich  in  moral  significance,  He  may  have  wished  for  all 
time  to  encourage  us  in  our  prayers  and  hopes,  and  teach 
us  to  preserve,  even  wlien  it  might  seem  that  His  face  is 
dark  to  us,  or  that  His  eai'  is  turned  away. 

Weary  with  the  importunity  of  her  cries,  the  disciples 
begged  Him  to  send  her  away.  But,  as  if  even  fJ/eir 
intercession  would  be  unavailing.  He  said,  "I  am  not  sent 
but  unto  tlie  lost  sheep  of  the  Jiouse  of  Israel." 


AMONG  THE  HEATHEN.  259 

Then  she  came  and  fell  at  His  feet,  and  began  to  wor- 
ship Him,  saying,  "Lord,  help  me."  Could  He  indeed 
remain  imtonched  by  that  sorrow  ?  Could  He  reject  that 
appeal  ?  and  would  He  leave  her  to  return  to  the  life- 
long agony  of  watching  the  paroxysms  of  her  demoniac 
child  ?  Calmly  and  coldly  came  from  those  lips  that  never 
yet  had  answered  with  anything  but  mercy  to  a  suppliant's 
prayer — "  It  is  not  meet  to  take  the  children's  bread,  and 
to  cast  it  to  dogs." 

Such  an  answer  might  well  have  struck  a  chill  into  her 
soul;  and  had  He  not  foreseen  that  hers  was  the  rare  trust 
which  can  see  mercy  and  acceptance  even  in  apparent  re- 
jection. He  would  not  so  have  answered  her.  But  not  all 
the  snows  of  her  native  Lebanon  could  quench  the  fire  of 
love  which  was  burning  on  the  altar  of  her  heart,  and 
promptly  as  an  echo  came  forth  the  glorious  and  immortal 
answer  : 

'•'  Truth,  Lord  ;  then  let  me  share  the  condition,  not  of 
the  children  but  of  the  dogs,  for  even  the  dogs  eat  of  the 
crumbs  which  fall  from  their  masters'  table." 

She  had  triumphed,  and  more  than  triumphed.  Not 
one  moment  longer  did  her  Lord  prolong  the  agony  of  her 
suspense.  "0  woman,"  He  exclaimed,  "great  is  thy 
faith  :  be  it  unto  thee  even  as  thou  wilt."  And  with  his 
usual  beautiful  and  graphic  simplicity  St.  Mark  ends  the 
narrative  with  the  touching  words,  "  And  when  she  was 
come  to  her  house,  slie  found  the  devil  gone  out,  and  her 
daughter  laid  upon  the  bed." 

How  long  our  Lord  remained  in  these  regions,  and  at 
what  spot  He  stayed,  we  do  not  know.  Probably  His 
departure  was  hastened  by  the  publicity  which  attended 
His  movements  even  there,  and  which — in  a  region  where 
it  had  been  His  object  quietly  to  train  his  own  nearest  and 
most  beloved  followers,  and  not  either  to  preach  or  to 
work  deeds  of  mercy — would  only  impede  his  work.  He 
therefoi'e  left  tiiat  interesting  land.  On  Tyre,  with  its 
commercial  magnificence,  its  ancient  traditions,  its  gor- 
geous and  impure  idolatries,  its  connection  with  the  his- 
tory and  prophecies  of  his  native  land — on  Sarepta,  with 
its  memories  of  Elijah's  flight  and  Elijah's  miracles — on 
Sidon,  with  its  fisheries  of  the  purple  limpet,  its  tombs  of 
once-famous  and  long  forgotten   kings,  its  minarets  rising 


2G0  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRTST. 

out  of  their  groves  of  palm  and  citron,  beside  the  blue  his- 
toric sea — on  the  white  wings  of  the  countless  vessels,  sail- 
ing to  the  Isles  of  the  Gentiles,  and  to  all  the  sunny  and 
famous  regions  of  Greece  and  Italy  and  Spain — He  would 
doubtless  look  with  a  feeling  of  mingled  sorrow  and  inter- 
est. But  His  work  did  not  lie  here,  and  leaving  behind 
Him  those  Phoenician  shrines  of  Melkarth  and  Asherah,  of 
Baalim  and  Ashtaroth,  He  turned  eastward  —  probably 
through  the  deep  gorge  of  the  rushing  and  beautiful 
Leontes — and  so  reaching  the  sources  of  the  Jordan,  trav- 
eled southward  on  its  further  bank  into  the  regions  of 
Decapolis. 

Decapolis  was  the  name  given  to  a  district  east  of  the 
Jordan,  extending  as  far  north  (apparently)  as  Damascus, 
and  as  far  south  as  the  river  Jabbok,  which  formed  the 
northern  limit  of  Persa.  It  was  a  confederacy  of  ten  free 
cities,  in  a  district  which,  on  their  return  from  exile,  the 
Jews  had  never  been  able  to  recover,  and  which  was  there- 
fore mainly  occupied  by  Gentiles,  who  formed  a  separate 
section  of  the  Roman  province.  The  reception  of  Jesus  in 
this  semi-pagan  district  seems  to  have  been  favorable. 
Wherever  He  went  He  was  unable  to  abstain  from  exercis- 
ing His  miraculous  powers  in  favor  of  the  sufferers  fur 
whom  His  aid  was  sought;  and  in  one  of  these  cities  He 
was  entreated  to  heal  a  man  who  was  deaf,  and  could 
scarcely  speak.  He  might  have  healed  him  by  a  word, 
but  there  were  evidently  circumstances  in  his  case  which 
rendered  it  desirable  to  make  the  cure  gradual,  and  to 
effect  it  by  visible  signs.  He  took  the  man  aside,  put  His 
fingers  in  his  ears,  and  spat,  and  touched  his  tongue;  and 
then  St.  Mark  preserves  for  us  the  sight,  and  the  uplifted 
glance,  as  He  spoke  the  one  word,  "Ephphatha  !  Be 
opened  I"  Here  again  it  is  not  revealed  to  us  what  were 
the  immediate  influences  which  saddened  His  spirit.  He 
may  have  sighed  in  pity  for  the  man;  He  may  have  sighed 
in  pity  for  the  race;  He  may  have  sighed  for  all  the  sins 
that  degrade  and  all  the  sufferings  which  torture;  but  cer- 
tainly He  sighed  in  a  spirit  of  deep  tenderness  and  compas- 
sion, and  certainly  that  sigh  ascended  like  an  infinite 
intercession  into  the  ears  of  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts. 

The  multitudes  of  that  outlying  region,  unfamiliar  with 
His  miracles,  were  beyond  measure  astonished.     His  in- 


AMONG  THE  HEATHEN.  261 

junction  of  secrecy  was  as  usual  disregarded,  and  all  hope 
of  seclusion  was  at  an  end.  The  cure  had  apparentl}^  been 
Avrought  in  close  vicinity  to  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Sea  of 
Galilee,  and  great  multitudes  followed  Jesus  to  the  summit 
of  a  hill  overlooking  the  lake,  and  there  bringing  their 
lame,  and  blind,  and  maimed,  and  dumb,  they  laid  them 
at  the  feet  of  the  Good  Physician,  and  lie  healed  them  all. 
Filled  with  intense  and  joyful  amazement,  these  people  of 
Decapolis  could  not  tear' themselves  from  His  presence, 
and — semi-pagans  as  they  were — they  "glorified  the  God 
of  Israel." 

Three  days  they  had  now  been  with  Him,  and,  as  many 
of  them  came  from  a  distance,  their  food  was  exhausted. 
Jesus  pitied  them,  and  seeing  their  faith,  and  unwilling 
that  they  should  faint  by  the  way,  once  more  spread  for 
His  people  a  table  in  the  wilderness.  Some  have  wondered 
that,  in  answer  to  the  expression  of  His  pity,  the  disciples 
did  not  at  once  anticipate  or  suggest  what  He  should  do. 
But  surely  here  there  is  a  toucli  of  delicacy  and  truth. 
They  knew  that  there  was  in  Him  no  prodigality  of  the 
supernatural,  no  lavish  and  needless  exercise  of  miraculous 
power.  Many  and  many  a  time  had  they  been  with  multi- 
tudes before,  and  yet  on  one  occasion  only  had  He  fed 
them;  and  moreover,  after  He  had  done  so,  He  had  most 
sternly  rebuked  those  who  came  to  Him  in  expectation  of  a 
repeated  offer  of  such  gifts,  and  had  uttered  a  discourse  so 
searching  and  strange  that  it  alienated  from  Him  many 
even  of  His  friends.  For  them  to  suggest  to  Him  a  repe- 
tition of  the  feeding  of  the  five  thousand  would  be  a  pre- 
sumption which  their  ever-deepening  reverence  forbade, 
and  forbade  more  than  ever  as  they  recalled  liow  persist- 
ently He  iiad  refused  to  work  a  sign,  such  as  this  was,  at 
the  bidding  of  others.  But  no  sooner  had  He  given  them 
the  signal  of  His  intention,  than  with  perfect  faith  they 
became  His  ready  ministers.  They  seated  the  multitude, 
and  distributed  to  them  the  miraculous  multiplication  of 
the  seven  loaves  and  the  few  small  fishes;  and,  this  time 
unbidden,  they  gathered  the  fragments  that  remained,  and 
with  them  filled  seven  large  baskets  of  rope,  after  the  mul- 
titude—four thousand  in  number,  besides  women  and 
children— had  eaten  and  were  filled.  And  then  kindly 
and  peacefully,  and  with  no  exhibition  on  the  part  of  the 


262  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

populace  of  that  spurious  excitement  which  had  marked 
the  former  miracle,  the  Lord  and  His  Apostles  joined  in 
sending  away  tiie  rejoicing  and  grateful  tlirong. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE   GKEAT    CONFESSION. 

Very  different  was  the  reception  wiiich  awaited  Jesus 
on  the  iurtiier  shore.  The  poor  heathens  of  Decapolis  had 
welcomed  Him  with  reverent  enthusiasm  :  the  haughty 
Pharisees  of  Jerusalem  met  Him  witli  sneering  hate.  It 
may  be  that,  after  this  period  of  absence,  His  human  soul 
yearned  for  the  only  I'estiiig-place  which  he  could  call  a 
home.  Entering  into  His  little  vessel,  He  sailed  across 
the  lake  to  Magdala.  It  is  probable  that  He  purposely 
avoided  sailinsr  to  Bethsaida  or  Capernaum,  which  are  a 
little  north  of  Magdala,  and  which  had  become  the  head- 
quarters of  the  hostile  Pharisees.  But  it  seems  that  these 
personages  had  kept  a  lookout  for  His  arrival.  As  though 
they  had  been  watching  from  the  tower  of  Magdala  for 
the  sail  of  His  returning  vessel,  barely  had  He  set  foot  on 
shore  than  they  came  forth  to  meet  Him.  Nor  were  they 
alone:  this  time  they  were  accompanied — ill-omened  con- 
junction! — with  their  rivals  and  enemies  the  Sadducees, 
that  sceptical  sect,  half-religious,  half-political,  to  which 
at  this  time  belonged  the  two  High  Priests,  as  well  as  the 
members  of  the  reigning  family.  Every  section  of  the 
ruling  classes  —  the  Pharisees,  formidable  from  their 
religious  weight  among  the  people;  the  Sadducees,  few  in 
number,  but  powerful  from  wealth  and  position  ;  the 
Herodians,  representing  the  influence  of  the  Romans,  and 
of  their  nominees  the  tetrarchs  :  the  scribes  and  lawyers, 
bringing  to  bear  the  authority  of  their  orthodoxy  and  their 
learning — were  all  united  against  Him  in  one  firm  phalanx 
of  conspiracy  and  opposition,  and  were  determined  above 
all  things  to  hinder  His  preaching,  and  to  alienate  from 
Him,  as  far  as  was  practicable,  the  affections  of  the  people 
among  whom  most  of  His  mighty  works  were  done. 

They  had  already  found  by  experience  that  the  one  most 
effectual  weapon  to  discredit  His  mission  and  undermine 


THE  GREAT  CONFESSION.  263 

His  influence  was  the  demand  of  a  sign — above  all,  a  sign 
from  heaven.  If  he  were  indeed  the  Messiah,  why  should 
He  not  give  them  bread  from  heaven  as  Moses,  they  said, 
had  done  ?  where  were  Samuel's  thunder  and  Elijali's 
flame  ?  why  should  not  tlie  sun  be  darkened,  and  the  moon 
turned  into  blood,  and  the  stars  of  heaven  be  shaken  ? 
why  should  not  some  fiery  pillar  glide  before  them  to 
victory,  or  the  burst  of  some  stormy  Bath  Kol  ratify  His 
words  ? 

They  knew  that  no  such  sign  would  be  granted  them, 
and  they  knew  that  He  had  vouchsafed  to  them  the 
strongest  reasons  for  His  thrice-repeated  refusal  to  gratify 
their  presumptuous  and  unspiritual  demand.  Had  they 
known  or  understood  the  fact  of  His  temptation  in  the 
wilderness,  they  would  have  known  that  His  earliest 
answers  to  the  tempter  were  uttered  in  this  very  spirit  of 
utter  self-abnegation.  Had  He  granted  their  request, 
what  purpose  would  have  been  furthered  ?  It  is  not  the 
influence  of  external  forces,  but  it  is  the  germinal  piinciple 
of  life  within,  which  makes  the  good  seed  to  grow,  nor 
can  the  hard  heart  be  converted,  or  the  stubborn  unbelief 
removed,  by  portents  and  prodigies,  but  by  inward 
humility,  and  the  grace  of  God  stealing  downward  like  the 
dew  of  heaven,  in  silence  and  unseen.  What  would  have 
ensued  had  tlie  sign  been  vouchsafed  ?  By  its  actual  eye- 
witnesses it  would  have  been  attributed  to  demoniac 
agency  ;  by  those  to  whom  it  was  reported  it  would  have 
been  explained  away  ;  by  those  of  the  next  generation  it 
would  have  been  denied  as  an  invention,  or  evaporated 
into  a  myth. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees  felt 
that  for  the  present  this  refusal  to  gratify  their  demand 
gave  them  a  handle  against  Jesus,  and  was  an  effectual 
engine  for  weakening  the  admiration  of  the  people.  Yet 
not  for  one  moment  did  He  hesitate  in  rejecting  this  their 
temptation.  He  would  not  work  any  epideictic  miracle  at 
their  bidding,  any  more  than  at  the  bidding  of  the 
tempter.  He  at  once  told  them,  as  He  iiad  told  them 
before,  that  "  no  sign  should  be  given  thcni  but  the  sign 
of  the  prophet  Jonah."  Pointing  to  the  western  sky,  now 
crimson  with  the  deepening  hues  of  sunset.  He  said, 
"  When  it  is  evening,  ye  say,  '  Fair  Aveather  !  for  the  sky 


264  TIIK  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

is  red  ; '  Jiiul  in  the  morning,  'Storm  to-day,  for  the  sky 
is  red  and  frowning.'  Hypocrites  !  ye  iinow  how  to  dis- 
cern the  face  of  the  sky:  can  ye  not  k'arii  the  signs  of  the 
times  ?" 

As  he  spoke  He  heaved  a  deep  inward  sigli.  For  some 
time  He  had  been  absent  from  home.  He  had  been 
sought  out  with  trustful  faith  in  the  regions  of  Tyre  atid 
8idon.  He  had  been  welcomed  with  ready  gratitude  in 
lieathen  Decapolis  ;  here,  at  home,  he  was  met  with  the 
flaunt  of  triumphant  opposition,  under  tlie  guise  of  hypo- 
critic  zeah  He  steps  asliore  on  the  lovely  plain;  where 
He  had  done  so  many  noble  and  tender  deeds,  and  spoken 
for  all  time  such  transcendent  and  immortal  words.  He 
came  back,  haply  to  work  once  more  in  the  little  district 
Avliere  His  steps  had  once  been  followed  by  rejeicing 
thousands,  hanging  in  deep  silenct?  on  every  word  He 
spoke.  As  He  approaches  Magdala,  the  little  village  des- 
tined for  all  time  to  lend  its  name  to  a  word  expressive  of 
His  most  divine  compassion — as  He  wishes  to  enter  once 
more  the  little  cities  and  villages  which  offered  to  His 
homelessness  the  only  shadow  of  a  home — here,  barely  has 
He  stepped  upon  the  pebbly  strand,  barely  passed  through 
the  fringe  of  flowering  shrubs  which  embroider  the  water's 
edge,  barely  listened  to  the  twittering  of  the  innumerable 
birds  which  welcome  Him  back  with  their  familiar  sounds 
— when  He  finds  all  the  self-satisfied  hypocrisies  of  a 
decadent  religion  drawn  up  in  array  to  stop  His  path  ! 

He  did  not  press  His  mercies  on  those  who  rejected 
them.  As  in  after  days  His  nation  were  suffered  to  prefer 
their  robber  and  their  murderer  to  the  Lord  of  Life,  so 
now  the  Galileeans  were  suffered  to  keep  their  Pharisees  and 
lose  their  Christ.  He  left  them  as  He  had  left  the 
Gadarenes — rejected,  not  suffered  to  rest  even  in  His  home; 
with  heavy  heart,  solemnly  and  sadly  He  left  them — left 
them  then  and  there — left  them,  to  revisit,  indeed,  once 
more  their  neighborhood,  but  never  again  to  return  pub- 
licly— never  again  to  work  miracles,  to  teach  or  preach. 

It  must  have  been  late  in  that  autumn  evening  when  He 
stepped  once  more  into  the  little  ship,  and  bade  His  dis- 
ciples steer  their  course  toward  Bethsaida  Julias,  at  the 
northei'n  end  of  the  lake.  On  their  way  they  must  have 
sailed   by  the  bright  sands  of  the  western   Bethsaida,  on 


THE  GREAT  CONFESSION.  265 

which  Peter  and  the  sons  of  Zebedee  had  played  in  their 
infancy,  and  must  have  seen  the  white  marble  synagogue 
of  Capernaum  flinging  its  shadow  across  the  waters,  which 
blushed  with  the  reflected  colors  of  the  sunset.  Was  it  at 
such  a  moment,  when  He  was  leaving  Galilee  with  the  full 
knowledge  that  His  work  there  was  at  an  end,  and  that  He 
Avas  sailing  away  from  it  under  the  ban  of  partial  excom- 
munication and  certain  death — was  it  at  that  supreme 
moment  of  sorrow  that  He  uttered  the  rhythmic  woe  in 
which  He  upbraided  the  unrepentant  cities  wherein  most 
of  His  mighty  works  were  done? 

'•' Woe  unto  thee,  Chorazin!  woe  unto  thee,  Bethsaida! 
for  if  the  mighty  works  which  have  been  done  in  you  had 
been  done  in^Tyre  and  Sidon,  they  would  have  repented 
long  ago  in  sackcloth  and  ashes. 

"  But  I  say  unto  you.  That  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  for 
Tyre  and  Sidon  at  the  day  of  judgment  than  for  you. 

"  And  thou,  Capernaum,  which  art  exalted  unto  heaven, 
shalt  be  brought  down  to  hell :  for  if  the  mighty  works 
which  have  been  done  in  thee  had  been  done  in  Sodom,  it 
would  have  remained  until  this  day. 

"But  I  say  unto  you,  That  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  for 
the  land  of  Sodom  in  the  day  of  judgment  than  for  theel" 

Whether  these  touching  words  were  uttered  on  this  oc- 
casion as  a  stern  and  sad  farewell  to  His  public  ministry  in 
the  land  He  loved,  we  cannot  tell  :  but  certainly  His  soul 
was  still  filled  with  sorrow  for  the  unbelief  and  hardness  of 
heart,  the  darkened  intellects  and  corrupted  consciences  of 
those  who  were  thus  leaving  for  Him  no  power  to  set  foot 
in  His  native  land.  It  has  been  said  by  a  great  forensic 
orator,  that  "no  form  of  self-deceit  is  more  hateful  and 
detestable  .  .  .  than  that  which  veils  spite  and  false- 
hood under  the  guise  of  frankness,  and  behind  the  pro- 
fession of  religion."  Repugnance  to  this  hideous  vice 
must  have  been  prominent  in  the  stricken  heart  of  Jesus, 
when,  as  the  ship  sailed  along  the  pleasant  shore  upon  its 
northward  way.  He  said  to  His  disciples,  "  Take  heed,  and 
beware  of  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees." 

He  added  nothing  more ;  and  this  remark  the  strange 
simplicity  of  the  disciples  foolishly  misinterpreted,  Tliey 
were  constantly  taking  His  flgui-ative  expressions  literally, 
and    His   literal   expressions   metaphorically.     When    He 


2G6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ciilled  Himself  the  "bread  from  lieaven,"  they  thought 
the  saying  liard;  wlieii  He  said,  "I  liave  meat  to  eat  that 
ye  know  not  of,"  they  could  only  remari<:,  '•'  Hath  any  man 
brought  Him  aught  to  eat?"  wlien  He  said,  "  Our  friend 
Lazarus  sleepeth,"  they  answered,  "  Lord,  if  he  sleep,  he 
shall  do  well."  And  so  now,  although  leaven  was  one  of 
the  very  commonest  types  of  sin,  and  especially  of  insidious 
and  subterranean  sin,  the  only  interpretation  which,  after 
a  discussion  among  themselves,  they  could  attach  to  His 
remark  was,  that  He  was  warning  them  not  to  buy  leaven 
of  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees,  or,  perhaps,  indirectly  re- 
proaching them  because,  in  the  sorrow  and  hurry  of  their 
unexpected  re-embarkation,  they  had  only  brought  with 
them  one  single  loaf  !  Jesus  was  grieved  at  this  utter  non- 
comprehension,  this  almost  stupid  literalism.  Did  they 
suppose  that  He  at  whose  words  the  loaves  and  fishes  had 
been  so  miraculously  multiplied — that  they,  who  after 
feeding  the  five  thousand  had  gathered  twelve  hand-baskets, 
and  after  feeding  the  four  thousand  had  gathered  seven 
large  baskets  full  of  the  fragments  that  remained — did 
they  suppose,  after  tliat,  that  there  was  danger  lest  He  or 
they  should  suffer  from  starvation?  Tliere  was  something 
almost  of  indignation  in  the  i-apid  questions  in  which, 
without  correcting.  He  indicated  their  error.  "  Why 
reason  ye  because  ye  have  no  bread?  Perceive  ye  not  yet, 
neither  understand  ?  Have  ye  your  heart  yet  hardened  ? 
Having  eyes,  see  ye  not  ?  and  having  ears,  hear  ye  not  ? 
and  do  ye  not  remember?"  And  then  once  more,  after  He 
liad  reminded  them  of  those  miracles,  "^  How  is  it  that  ye 
do  not  understand?"  They  had  not  ventured  to  ask  Him 
for  any  ex2)lanation  ;  there  was  something  about  Him — 
something  so  awe-inspiring  and  exalted  in  His  personality 
— that  their  love  for  Him,  intense  though  it  was,  was  tem- 
pered by  an  overwhelming  reverence:  but  now  it  began  to 
dawn  upon  them  that  something  else  was  meant,  and  that 
He  was  bidding  them  beware,  not  of  the  leaven  of  bread, 
but  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees. 

At  Bethsaida  Julias,  probably  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, a  blind  man  was  brought  to  Him  for  healing.  The 
cure  was  wrought  in  a  manner  very  similar  to  that  of  the 
deaf  and  dumb  man  in  Decapolis.  It  has  none  of  the  ready 
freedom,  the  radiant  spontaneity  of   the  earlier  and  hap- 


THE  GREAT  CONFESSION.  267 

pier  miracles.  In  one  respect  it  differs  from  every  other 
recorded  miracle,  for  it  was,  as  it  were,  tentative.  Jesus 
took  the  man  by  the  hand,  led  him  out  of  the  village,  spat 
upon  his  eyes,  and  then,  laying  His  hands  upon  them, 
asked  if  he  saw.  The  man  looked  at  the  figures  in  the 
distance,  and,  but  imperfectly  cured  as  yet,  said,  "  I  see 
men  as  trees  walking."  Not  until  Jesus  had  laid  His 
hands  a  second  time  upon  his  eyes  did  he  see  clearly.  And 
then  Jesns  bade  him  go  to  his  house,  which  was  not  at 
Bethsaida:  for,  with  an  emphatic  repetition  of  the  word, 
he  is  forbidden  either  to  enter  into  the  town,  or  to  tell  it 
to  any  one  in  the  town.  We  cannot  explain  the  causes  of 
the  method  which  Christ  here  adopted.  The  impossibility, 
of  understanding  what  guided  His  actions  arises  from  the 
brevity  of  the  narrative,  in  which  the  Evangelist — as  is  so 
often  the  case  with  writers  conversant  with  their  subject — 
passes  over  many  particulars,  which,  because  they  were  so 
familiar  to  himself,  will,  he  supposes,  be  self-explaining  to 
those  who  read  his  words.  All  that  we  can  dimly  see  is 
Christ's  dislike  and  avoidance  of  those  heathenish  Herodian 
towns,  with  their  borrowed  Hellenic  architecture,  their 
careless  customs,  and  even  their  very  names  commemorat- 
ing, as  was  the  case  with  Bethsaida  Julias,  some  of  the 
most  contemptible  of  the  human  race.  AVe  see  from  the 
Gospels  themselves  that  the  richness  and  power  displayed 
in  the  miracles  was  correlative  to  the  faith  of  the  recip- 
ients; in  places  where  faith  was  scanty  it  was  but  too  nat- 
ural that  miracles  should  be  gradual  and  few. 

Leaving  Bethsaida  Julias  Jesus  made  His  way  toward 
Caesarea  Philippi.  Here,  again,  it  seems  to  be  distinctly 
intimated  that  He  did  not  enter  the  town  itself,  but  only 
visited  the  "  coasts  "  of  it,  or  wandered  about  the  neigh- 
boring villages.  Why  He  bent  His  footsteps  in  that  di- 
rpction  we  are  not  told.  It  was  a  town  that  had  seen  many 
vicissitudes.  As  ''  Laish  "  it  had  been  the  possession  of  tlie 
careless  Sidonians.  As  "Dan"  it  had  been  the  chief 
refuge  of  a  warlike  tribe  of  Israel,  the  northern  limit  of 
the  Israelitish  Kingdom,  and  the  seat  of  the  idolatry  of  the 
golden  calf.  Colonized  by  Greeks,  its  name  had  been 
changed  into  Paneas,  in  honor  of  the  cave  under  its  tower- 
ing hill,  which  had  been  artificially  fashioned  into  a  grotto 
of  Pan,  and  adorned  with  niches,  which  once  contained 


268  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

statues  of  his  sylvan  nymphs.  As  the  capital  of  Herod 
Philip,  it  had  been  renamed  in  honor  of  himself  and  his 
patron  Tiberius.  The  Lord  miglit  gaze  with  interest  on 
the  noble  ranges  of  Libanus  and  Anti-Libanus  ;  He  miglit 
watch  the  splendid  and  snowy  mass  of  Hernion  glittering 
under  the  (hiwn,  or  flushed  with  its  evening  glow  ;  He 
might  wander  round  Lake  Phiala,  and  see  where,  accord- 
ing to  popular  belief,  tlie  Jordan,  after  his  subterranean 
course,  bursts  rejoicing  into  the  liglit  :  but  he  could  only 
have  gazed  with  sorrow  on  the  city  itself,  with  its  dark 
memories  of  Isi'aelitish  apostasy,  its  poor  mimicry  of  Roman 
Imperialism,  and  the  broken  statues  of  its  unhallowed  and 
Hellenic  cave. 

But  it  was  on  his  way  to  the  northern  region  that  there 
occurred  an  incident  which  may  well  be  regarded  as  the 
culminating  point  of  His  earthly  ministry.  He  was  alone. 
The  crowd  tiuit  surged  so  tumultuously  about  Him  in  more 
frequented  districts,  here  only  followed  Him  at  a  distance. 
Only  His  disciples  were  near  Him  as  He  stood  apart  in 
solitary  prayer.  And  when  the  prayer  was  over.  He  beck- 
oned them  about  Him  as  they  continued  their  journey, 
and  asked  them  these  two  momentous  questions,  on  the  an- 
swers to  which  depended  the  whole  outcome  of  His  work 
on  earth. 

First  He  asked  them  : 

"  Whom  do  men  say  that  I  the  Sou  of  Man  am  ?" 

The  answer  was  a  sad  one.  The  Apostles  dared  not  and 
would  not  speak  aught  but  the  words  of  soberness  and  truth, 
and  they  made  the  disheartening  admission  that  the  Messiah 
had  not  been  recognized  by  the  world  which  he  came  to 
save.  Tliey  could  only  repeat  the  idle  guesses  of  the  peo- 
ple. Some,  echoing  the  verdict  of  the  guilty  conscience  of 
Antipas,  said  tlnit  he  was  John  the  Baptist ;  some,  who 
may  have  heard  the  sterner  denunciations  of  His  impas- 
sioned grief,  caught  in  that  mighty  utterance  the  thunder 
tones  of  a  new  Elijah  ;  others,  who  had  listened  to  His 
accents  of  tenderness  and  words  of  universal  love,  saw 
in  Him  the  plaintive  soul  of  Jeremiah,  and  thought  that 
he  had  come,  perhaps,  to  restore  them  tlie  lost  Urini  and 
the  vanished  Ark  :  many  looked  on  Him  as  a  prophet 
and  a  precursor.  None — in  spite  of  an  occcasional  Mes- 
sianic cry   wrung   from  the  admiration  of  the  multitude. 


TBW  GREAT  CONFESSTOK.  269 

amazed  by  some  unwonted  display  of  power — none  dreamed 
of  who  He  was.  The  light  had  shone  in  the  darkness  and 
the  darkness  comprehended  it  not. 

"  But  whom  say  ye  that  I  am  ?'" 

Had  that  great  question  been  answered  otherwise — could 
it  have  been  answered  otherwise — the  world's  whole  des- 
tinies might  have  been  changed.  Had  it  been  answered 
otherwise,  then,  humanly  speaking,  so  far  the  mission  of 
the  Saviour  would  have  wholly  failed,  and  Christianity  and 
Christendom  have  never  been.  For  the  work  of  Christ  on 
earth  lay  mainly  with  His  disciples.  He  sowed  the  seed, 
they  reaped  the  harvest ;  He  converted  them  and  they  the 
world.  He  had  never  openly  spoken  of  His  Messiahship. 
John  indeed  had  borne  witness  to  Him,  and  to  those 
Avho  could  receive  it  He  had  indirectly  intimated,  both  in 
word  and  deed,  that  He  was  the  Son  of  God.  But  it  was 
His  will  that  the  light  of  revelation  should  dawn  gradually 
on  the  minds  of  His  children  ;  that  it  should  spring  more 
from  the  truths  He  spake,  and  the  life  He  lived,  than 
from  the  wonders  which  He  wrought  ;  that  it  should  be 
conveyed  not  in  sudden  thunder-crashes  of  supernatural 
majesty  or  visions  of  unutterable  glory,  but  through  the 
quiet  medium  of  a  sinless  and  self-sacrificing  course.  It 
was  in  the  Son  of  Man  that  they  were  to  recognize  the  Sou 
of  God. 

But  the  answer  came,  as  from  everlasting  it  had  been 
written  in  the  book  of  destiny  that  it  should  come;  and 
Peter,  the  ever  warm-hearted,  the  corypliaeus  of  the 
Apostolic  choir,  had  the  immortal  honor  of  giving  it  utter- 
ance for  them  all — 

"  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  Livikg 
God  ! " 

Such  an  answer  from  the  chief  of  the  Apostles  atoned  by 
its  fullness  of  insight  ;-nd  certitude  of  conviction  for  the 
defective  appreciation  of  the  multitudes.  It  showed  that 
at  last  the  great  mystery  was  revealed  which  had  been 
hidden  from  the  ages  and  the  generations.  The  Apostles 
at  least  had  not  only  recognized  in  Jesus  of  Nazareth  the 
promised  Messiah  of  their  nation,  but  it  had  been  revealed 
to  them  by  the  special  grace  of  God  that  that  Messiah  was 
not  only  what  the  Jews  expected,  a  Prince,  and  a  Ruler, 
and  a  Son  of  David,  but  was  more  than  this,  even  the  Sou 
of  the  living  God. 


^70  i'H^  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

With  what  awful  solemnity  did  Jesus  ratify  that  great 
confession.  *' Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him.  Blessed 
art  thou,  Simon,  son  of  Jonas :  for  flesli  and  blood  hath 
not  revealed  it  unto  thee,  but  my  Fatlier  which  is  in 
heaven.  And  I  say  unto  thee,  that  thou  art  Peter  (Petros), 
and  on  this  rock  {petra)  I  will  build  my  Church,  and  the 
gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it.  And  I  will  give 
unto  thee  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ;  and  who- 
soever thou  shalt  bind  on  earth  shall  be  bound  in  heaven, 
and  whatsoever  thou  shalt  loose  on  earth  shall  be  loosed  in 
heaven." 

Never  did  even  the  lips  of  Jesus  utter  more  memorable 
words.  It  was  His  own  testimony  of  Himself.  It  was  the 
promise  that  they  who  can  acknowledge  it  are  blessed. 
It  was  the  revealed  fact  that  they  only  can  acknowledge  it 
who  are  led  thereto  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  It  told  man- 
kind forever  that  not  by  earthly  criticisms,  but  only  by 
heavenly  grace,  can  the  full  knowledge  of  tiiat  truth  be 
obtained.  It  was  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the 
Chuech  of  Christ,  and  the  earliest  occasion  on  which 
was  uttered  that  memorable  word,  thereafter  to  be  so  inti- 
mately blended  with  the  history  of  the  world.  It  was  the 
promise  that  that  Church  founded  on  the  rock  of  inspired 
confession  should  remain  unconquered  by  all  the  powers  of 
hell.  It  was  the  conferring  upon  that  Church,  in  the  per- 
son of  its  typical  representative,  the  power  to  open  and 
shut,  to  bind  and  loose,  and  the  promise  that  the  power 
fully  exercised  on  earth  should  be  finally  ratified  in  heaven. 

"Tute  haec  omnia  dicuntur,"  says  the  great  Bengel, 
"nam  quid  ad  Komam?"  "All  these  statements  are 
made  with  safety  ;  for  what  have  they  to  do  with  Rome  ?" 
Let  him  who  will  wade  through  all  the  controversy 
necessitated  by  the  memorable  perversions  of  this  mem- 
orable text,  which  runs  as  an  inscription  round  the  in- 
terior of  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  But  little 
force  is  needed  to  overthrow  the  strange  inverted  pyramids 
of  argument  which  have  been  built  upon  it.  Were 
it  not  a  matter  of  history,  it  would  have  been  deemed 
incredible  that  on  so  baseless  a  foundation  should  have 
been  rested  the  fantastic;  claim  that  abnormal  power  should 
be  conceded  to  the  bishops  of  a  Church  which  almost  cer- 
tainly St.  Peter  did  not  found,  and  in  a  city  in  which  there 


THE  ORP.AT  CONFESSION.  271 

is  no  indisputable  proof  that  he  ever  set  his  foot.  The 
immense  arrogancies  of  sacerdotalism  ;  the  disgraceful 
abuses  of  the  confessional ;  the  imaginary  power  of 
absolving  from  oaths  ;  the  ambitious  assumption  of  a  right 
to  crush  and  control  the  civil  power  ;  the  extravagant 
usurpation  of  infallibility  in  wielding  the  dangerous  weapon 
of  anathema  and  excommunication  ;  the  colossal  tyrannies 
of  the  Poj)edom,  and  the  detestable  cruelties  of  the  In- 
quisition— all  these  abominations  are,  we  may  hope,  hence- 
foi'th  and  forever,  things  of  the  past.  But  the  Church  of 
Christ  remains,  of  which  Peter  was  a  chief  foundation,  a 
living  stone.  The  powers  of  hell  have  not  prevailed  against 
it ;  it  still  has  a  commission  to  fling  wide  open  the  gates  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven ;  it  still  may  loose  us  from  idle 
traditional  burdens  and  meaningless  ceremonial  observ- 
ances ;  it  still  may  bind  upon  our  hearts  and  consciences 
the  truths  of  revealed  religion  and  the  eternal  obligations 
of  the  Moral  Law: 

To  Peter  himself  the  great  promise  was  remarkably 
fulfilled.  It  was  he  who  converted  on  the  day  of  Pente- 
cost the  first  great  body  of  Jews  who  adopted  the  Christian 
faith  ;  it  was  he  who  admitted  the  earliest  Gentile  into  the 
full  privileges  of  Christian  fellowship.  His  confession 
made  him  as  a  rock,  on  which  the  faith  of  many  was 
founded,  which  the  powers  of  Hades  might  shake,  but 
over  which  they  never  could  prevail.  But,  as  has  been 
well  added  by  one  of  the  deepest,  most  venerable,  and 
most  learned  Fathers  of  the  ancient  church,  "If  anij  one 
thus  confess,  when  flesh  and  blood  have  not  revealed  it 
unto  him,  but  our  Father  in  heaven,  he,  too,  shall  obtain 
the  promised  blessings  ;  as  the  letter  of  the  Gospel  saith 
indeed  to  the-  great  8t.  Peter,  but  as  its  spirit  teacheth  to 
every  man  who  hath  become  like  what  that  great  Peter 
was. " 

It  may  be  said  that,  from  that  time  forth,  the  Saviour 
might  regard  one  great  portion  of  His  work  on  earth  as 
having  been  accomplished.  His  Apostles  were  now  con- 
vinced of  the  mystery  of  His  being;  the  foundations 
were  laid  on  which,  with  Himself  as  the  chief  corner- 
stone, the  whole  vast  ediflce  was  to  be  hei'eafter  built. 

But  He  forbade  them  to  reveal  this  truth  as  yet.  The 
time   for   such   preaching  had  not  yet  come.     They  were 


272  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRTST. 

yet  tvlioUy  ignorant  of  the  tvne  method  of  His  manifes- 
tation. They  were  yet  too  unconfirmed  in  faitli  even  to 
remain  true  to  Him  in  His  lioiir  of  utmost  need.  As  yet 
He  woukl  be  Icnown  as  the  Christ  to  those  only  whose 
spiritual  insight  could  see  Him  immediately  in  His  life  and 
in  His  works.  As  yet  He  would  neither  strive  nor  cry, 
nor  should  His  voice  be  heard  in  the  streets.  When  their 
own  faith  was  confirmed  beyond  all  wavering  by  the 
mighty  fact  of  His  resurrection,  when  their  hearts  had 
been  filled  with  the  new  Shechinah  of  God's  Holy  Spirit, 
and  their  brows,  with  final  consecration,  had  been  mitred 
with  Pentecostal  flame,  then,  but  not  till  then,  would  the 
hour  have  come  for  them  to  go  forth  and  teach  all  nations 
that  Jesus  was  indeed  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  Living 
God. 

But  although  they  now  knew  Him,  they  knew  nothing 
as  yet  of  the  way  in  which  it  was  His  will  to  carry  out  His 
divine  purposes.  It  was  time  that  they  should  yet  fur- 
ther be  prepared  ;  it  was  time  that  they  should  learn  that, 
King  though  He  was.  His  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world  ; 
it  was  time  tl]<it  all  idle  earthly  hopes  of  splendor  and 
advancement  in  the  Messianic  kingdom  should  be  quenched 
in  them  forever,  and  that  they  should  know  that  the 
kingdom  of  God  is  not  meat  and  drink,  but  righteousness 
and  peace,  and  joy  in  believing. 

Therefore  He  began,  calmly  and  deliberately,  to  reveal 
to  them  His  intended  journey  to  Jerusalem,  His  rejection 
by  the  leaders  of  His  nation,  the  anguish  and  insult  that 
awaited  Him,  His  violent  death.  His  resurrection  on  the 
third  day.  He  had,  indeed,  on  previous  occasions  given 
them  divers  and  distant  intimations  of  these  approaching 
sufferings,  but  now  for  the  first  time  He  dwelt  on  them 
distinctly,  and  that  with  full  freedom  of  speech.  Yet 
even  now  He  did  not  reveal  in  its  entire  awfulness  the 
manner  of  His  approaching  death.  He  made  known  unto 
them,  indeed,  that  He  should  be  rejected  by  the  elders 
and  chief  priests  and  scribes — by  all  the  authorities,  and 
dignities,  and  sanctities  of  the  nation — but  not  that  He 
should  be  delivered  to  the  Gentiles.  He  warned  them  that 
He  should  be  killed,  but  He  reserved  till  the  time  of  His 
last  journey  to  Jerusalem  the  horrible  fact  thiit  He  should 
be  crucified.     He  thus  revealed  to  them  the  future  onlv  as 


THE  GREAT  CONFESSION.  273 

they  were  best  able  to  bear  it,  and  even  then,  to  console 
their  anguish  and  to  support  their  faith.  He  told  them 
quite  distinctly,  that  on  the  third  day  He  should  rise 
again. 

But  the  human  mind  has  a  singular  capacity  for  reject- 
ing that  which  it  cannot  comprehend — for  ignoring  and 
forgetting  all  that  does  not  fall  within  the  range  of  its 
previous  conceptions.  The  Apostles,  ever  faithful  and 
ever  simple  in  their  testimony,  never  conceal  from  us  their 
dullness  of  spiritual  insight,  nor  the  dominance  of  Judaic 
pre-conceptious  over  their  minds.  They  themselves  con- 
fess to  us  how  sometimes  they  took  the  literal  for  the 
figurative,  and  sometimes  the  figurative  for  the  literal. 
They  heard  the  announcement,  but  they  did  not  realize  it. 
*"■' They  understood  not  this  saying,  and  it  was  hid  from 
them,  and  they  perceived  it  not."  Now  as  on  so  many 
other  occasions  a  supernatural  awe  was  upon  them,  "  and 
they  feared  to  ask  Him."  The  prediction  of  His  end  was 
so  completely  alien  from  their  whole  habit  of  thought, 
that  they  would  only  put  it  aside  as  irrelevant  and 
unintelligible  —  some  mystery  which  they  could  not 
fathom  ;  and  as  regards  the  resurrection,  when  it  was 
again  prophesied  to  the  most  spiritual  among  them  all, 
they  could  only  question  among  one  another  what  the  rising 
from  the  dead  should  mean. 

But  Peter,  in  his  impetuosity,  thought  that  he  under- 
stood, and  thought  that  he  could  prevent;  and  so  he  inter- 
rupted those  solemn  utterances  by  his  ignorant  and  pre- 
sumptuous zeal.  The  sense  that  it  had  been  given  to  him 
to  perceive  and  utter  a  new  and  mighty  truth,  together 
with  the  splendid  eulogium  and  promise  which  he  had  just 
received,  combined  to  inflate  his  intellect  and  misguide  his 
heart;  and  taking  Jesus  by  the  hand  or  by  the  robe,  he  led 
Him  a  step  or  two  aside  from  the  disciples,  and  began  to 
advise,  to  instruct,  to  rebuke  his  Lord.  "  God  forbid,"  he 
said;  ''this  shall  certainly  not  happen  to  thee."  "With  a 
flash  of  sudden  indignation  our  Lord  rebuked  his  worldli- 
ness  and  presumption.  Turning  away  from  him,  fixing 
His  eyes  on  the  other  disciples,  and  speaking  in  the  hear- 
ing of  them  all — for  it  was  fit  that  they  who  had  heard  the 
words  of  the  vast  promise  should  hear  also  the  crushing 
rebuke — He   exclaimed,   "Get    thee    behind    me,   Satan! 


274  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

thou  art  a  stumbling-block  mito  me  ;  for  tli}'  thoughts  are 
not  the  thoughts  of  God,  but  of  men."  Tliis  thy  mere 
carnal  and  human  view — this  attempt  to  dissuade  me  from 
my  "  baptism  of  death  " — is  a  sin  against  tlie  purposes  of 
God.  Peter  was  to  learn — would  that  the  Church  which 
professes  to  have  inherited  from  him  its  exclusive  and 
superhuman  claim's  had  also  learnt  in  timel — tliat  he  was 
far  indeed  from  being  infallible — that  he  was  capable  of 
falling,  ay,  and  with  scarcely  a  moment's  intermission, 
from  heights  of  divine  insight  into  depths  of  most  earthly 
folly. 

"  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan!" — the  very  words  which  He 
had  used  to  the  tempter  in  the  wilderness.  The  rebuke 
was  strong,  yet  to  our  ears  it  probably  conveys  a  meaning 
far  more  violent  than  it  would  have  done  to  the  ea,rs  that 
heard  it.  The  word  Satan  means  no  more  than  ''adver- 
sary," and,  as  in  many  passages  of  the  Old  Testament,  is 
so  far  from  meaning  the  great  Adversary  of  mankind,  that 
it  is  even  applied,  to  opposing  angels.  The  word,  in  fact, 
Avas  among  the  Jews,  as  in  tlie  East  generally,  and  to  this 
day,  a  very  common  one  for  anything  bold,  powerful, 
dangerous — for  every  secret  opponent  or  open  enemy.  But 
its  special  applicability  in  this  instance  rose  from  the  fact 
that  Peter  was  in  truth  adopting  the  very  line  of  argument 
which  the  Tempter  himself  had  adopted  in  the  wilderness. 
And  in  calling  Peter  an  offence  (dHdvdaXov),  Jesus  prob- 
ably again  alluded  to  his  name,  and  compared  him  to  a 
stone  in  the  path  over  which  the  wayfarer  stumbles.  The 
comparison  must  have  sunk  deeply  into  the  Apostle's 
mind,  for  he  too  in  his  Epistle  warns  his  readers  against 
some  to  whom,  because  they  believe  not,  the  Headstone  of 
the  Corner  became  "a  stone  of  stumbling  and  n  rock  of 
offence  "  {Ttsrpa  dnavdaXov,  1  Pet.  ii.  8). 

But  having  thus  warned  and  rebuked  the  ignorant  affec- 
tion of  unspiritual  effeminacy  in  His  presumptuous  Apos- 
tle, the  Lord  graciously  made  the  incident  an  occasion  for 
some  of  His  deepest  teaching,  which  He  not  only  addressed 
to  His  disciples,  but  to  all.  We  learn  quite  incidentally 
from  St.  Mark,  that  even  in  these  remote  regions.  His 
footsteps  were  sometimes  followed  by  attendant  crowds, 
who  usually  walked  at  a  little  distance  from  Him  and  His 
disciples,  but  were  sometimes  called  to  Him  to  hear  the 


THE  GREAT  CONFESSION.  275 

gracious  words  which  proceeded  out  of  His  mouth.  And 
alike  they  and  His  disciples  were  as  yet  infected  with  the 
false  notions  which  had  inspired  the  impetuous  interfer- 
ence of  Peter.  To  them,  therefore,  He  addressed  the 
words  which  have  taught  us  forever  that  the  essence  of  all 
highest  duty,  the  meaning  of  all  truest  life — alike  the 
most  acceptable  service  to  God,  and  the  most  ennobling 
example  to  men — is  involved  in  the  law  of  self-sacrifice. 
It  was  on  this  occasion  that  He  spoke  those  few  words 
Avhich  have  produced  so  infinite  an  effect  on  the  con- 
science of  mankind.  "  What  is  a  man  profited,  if  he 
shall  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or 
what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul  ?"  And 
then,  after  warning  them  that  He  should  Himself  be 
judged,  He  consoled  them  under  this  shock  of  unex- 
pected revelation  by  the  assurance  that  there  were  some 
standing  there  who  should  not  taste  of  death  till  they  had 
seen  the  Son  of  Man  coming  in  His  Ivingdom.  If,  as  all 
Scripture  shows,  "the  kingdom  of  the  Son  of  Man"  be 
nnderstood  in  a  sense  primarily  spiritual,  then  there 
can  be  no  difficulty  in  understanding  this  prophecy  in 
the  sense  that,  ere  all  of  them  passed  away,  the  founda- 
tions of  that  kingdom  should  have  been  established 
forever  in  the  abolition  of  the  old  and  the  establishment 
of  the  new  dispensation.  Three  of  them  were  immediately 
to  see  Him  transfigured  ;  all  but  one  were  to  be  witnesses 
of  His  resurrection;  one  at  least — the  beloved  disciple — 
was  to  survive  that  capture  of  Jerusalem  and  destruction 
of  the  Temple  wliich  were  to  render  impossible  any  literal 
fulfillment  of  the  Mosaic  law.  And  the  prophecy  may 
liave  deeper  meanings  yet  than  these — meanings  still  more 
real  because  they  are  still  more  wholly  spiritual.  "  If  we 
wish  not  to  fear  death,"  says  St.  Ambrose,  "  let  us  stand 
where  Christ  is  ;  Christ  is  your  Life  ;  He  is  the  very  Life 
which  cannot  die/* 


276  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


CHAPTEK  :^XXVI. 

THE   TKAJSrSFIGURATION. 

None  of  the  Evangelists  tell  us  about  the  week  which 
followed  this  memorable  event.  They  tell  us  only  that 
"  after  six  days"  He  took  with  Him  the  three  dearest  and 
most  enlightened  of  His  disciples,  and  went  with  them — 
the  expression  implies  a  certain  solemnity  of  expectation — 
up  a  lofty  mountain,  or,  as  St.  Luke  calls  it,  simply  "  the 
mountain." 

The  supposition  that  the  mountain  intended  was  Mount 
Tabor  has  been  engrained  for  centuries  in  the  tradition  of 
the  Christian  (Jhurch;  and  three  churches  and  a  monastery 
erected  before  the  close  of  the  sixth  century  attest  the  un- 
hesitating acceptance  of  tliis  belief.  Yet  it  is  almost  cer- 
tain that  Tabor  was  not  the  scene  of  that  great  epiphany. 
The  rounded  summit  of  that  picturesque  and  wood-crowned 
hill,  which  forms  so  fine  a  feature  in  tlie  landscape,  as  the 
traveler  approaches  the  northern  limit  of  the  plain  of 
Esdraelon,  had  probably  from  time  immemorial  been  a  for- 
tified and  inhabited  spot,  and  less  than  thirty  years  after 
this  time,  Josephus,  on  this  very  mountain,  strengthened 
the  existing  fortress  of  Itaburion.  This,  therefore,  was 
not  a  spot  to  which  Jesus  could  have  taken  the  three 
Apostles  "apart  by  themselves."  Nor^  again,  is  there  the 
slightest  intimation  that  the  six  intervening  days  had  been 
spent  in  traveling  southward  from  Csesarea  Phili.ppi,  the 
place  last  mentioned  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  distinctly  in- 
timated by  St.  Mark  (ix.  30),  that  Jesus  did  not  "pass 
through  Galilee"  (in  which  Mount  Tabor  is  situated)  till 
after  the  events  here  narrated.  Nor  again  does  the  com- 
paratively insignificant  hill  Paneum,  which  is  close  by 
Caesarea  Philipi^i,  fulfill  the  requirements  of  the  nari-ative. 
It  is,  therefore,  much  more  natural  to  suppose  that  our 
Lord,  anxious  to  traverse  the  Holy  Land  of  His  birth  to  its 
northern  limit,  journeyed  slowly  forward  till  He  reached 
the  lower  slopes  of  that  splendid  snow -clad  mountain, 
whose  glittering  mass,  visible  even  as  far  southward  as  the 
Dead  Sea,    magnificently  closes  the  northern  frontier  of 


THE  TRANSFIGURATION.  277 

Palestine— the  Mount  Hermou  of  Jewish  poetry.  Its  very 
name  means  "  the  mountain,*'  and  the  scene  which  it  wit- 
nessed would  well  suffice  to  procure  for  it  the  distinction 
of  being  the  only  mountain  to  which  in  Scripture  is 
attaclied  the  epithet  "holy."  On  those  dewy  pasturages, 
cool  and  fresh*  with  the  breath  of  the  snow-clad  heights 
above  them,  and  offering  that  noble  solitude,  among  the 
grandest  scenes  of  Nature,  which  He  desired  as  the  refresh- 
nient  of  His  soul  for  the  mighty  struggle  which  was  now 
so  soon  to  come,  Jesus  would  find  many  a  spot  where  He 
could  kneel  with  His  disciples  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 

And  the  coolness  and  solitude  would  be  still  more  deli- 
cious to  the  weariness  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows  after  the  burn- 
ing heat  of  the  Eastern  day  and  the  incessant  publicity 
which,  even  in  these  remoter  regions,  thronged  His  steps. 
It  was  the  evening  hour  when  He  ascended,  and  as  He 
climbed  the  hill-slope  with  those  three  chosen  witnesses — 
"  the  Sons  of  Thunder  and  the  Man  of  Rock'*— doubtless 
a  solemn  gladness  dilated  His  whole  soul;  a  sense  not  only 
of  the  heavenly  calm  which  that  solitary  communion  with 
His  Heavenly  Father  would  breathe  upon  the  spirit,  but 
still  more  than  this,  a  sense  that  He  would  be  supported 
for  the  coming  hour  by  ministrations  not  of  earth,  and 
illuminated  with  a  light  which  needed  no  aid  from  sun  or 
moon  or  stars.  He  went  up  to  be  prepared  for  death,  and 
He  took  His  three  x\postles  with  Him  that,  haply,  having 
seen  His  glory  —  the  glory  of  the  only  Begotten  of  the 
Father,  full  of  grace  and  ti'uth — their  hearts  might  be  for- 
tified, their  faith  strengthened,  to  gaze  unshaken  on  the 
shameful  insults  and  unspeakable  humiliation  of  the  cross. 
There,  then,  He  knelt  and  prayed,  and  as  He  prayed  He 
was  elevated  far  above  the  toil  and  misery  of  the  world 
which  liad  rejected  Him,  He  was  transfigured  before  them, 
and  His  countenance  shone  as  the  sun,  and  His  garments 
became  white  as  the  dazzling  snow-fields  above  them.  He 
was  enwrapped  in  such  rji  aureole  of  glistering  brilliance — 
His  whole  presence  breathed  so  divine  a  radiance — that  the 
light,  the  snow,  the  lightning  are  the  only  things  to  which 
the  Evangelist  can  compare  that  celestial  luster.  And,  lo! 
two  figui-es  were  by  His  side.  ".When,  in  the  desert.  He 
was  girding  Himself  for  the  work  of  life,  angels  of  life 
came  and  ministered  unto   Him  ;  now,  in  the  fair  world, 


278  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■when  He  is  girding  Himself  for  the  work  of  death,  the 
niinistrauts  come  to  Ilim  from  the  grave — but  from  tiie 
grave  conquered  —  one  from  that  tomb  nnder  Abarim, 
which  His  own  hand  had  sealed  lotig  ago;  the  other  from 
the  rest  into  whicli  He  had  entered  without  seeing  corrup- 
tion. There  stood  by  Him  Moses  and  Elias,  and  spake  of 
His  disease.  And  when  the  prayer  is  ended,  the  task 
accepted,  then  first  since  the  star  paused  over  Him  at  Beth- 
lehem, the  full  glory  falls  upon  Him  from  lieaven,  and  the 
testimony  is  borne  to  His  everlasting  sonship  and  power — 
'  Hear  ye  Him.'  " 

It  is  clear,  from  the  fuller  narrative  of  St.  Luke,  that 
the  three  Apostles  did  not  witness  the  beginning  of  this 
marvelous  transfiguration.  An  Oriental,  when  his  prayers 
are  over,  wraps  himself  in  his  abba,  and,  lying  down  on 
the  grass  in  the  open  air,  sinks  in  a  moment  into  profound 
sleep.  And  the  Apostles,  as  afterward  they  slept  at 
Gethsemane,  so  now  they  slept  on  Hermon.  They  were 
heavy,  "  weighed  down"  with  sleep,  when  suddenly  start- 
ing into  full  wakefulness  of  spirit,  they  saw  and  heard. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  shedding  an  intense  gleam 
over  the  mountain  herbage,  shone  the  glorified  form  of 
their  Lord.  Beside  Him,  in  the  same  flood  of  golden 
glory,  were  two  awful  shapes,  which  they  knew  or  heard 
to  be  Moses  and  Elijah.  And  the  Tliree  spake  together, 
in  the  stillness,  of  that  coming  decease  at  Jerusalem,  about 
which  they  had  just  been  forewarned  by  Clirist. 

And  as  the  splendid  vision  began  to  fade — as  the  ma- 
jestic visitants  were  about  to  be  separated  from  their  Lord, 
as  their  Lord  Himself  passed  with  them  into  overshadow- 
ing brightness — Peter,  anxious  to  delay  their  presence, 
amazed,  startled,  transported,  not  knowing  what  he  said — 
not  knowing  that  Calvary  would  be  a  spectacle  infinitely 
more  transcendent  than  Hermon — not  knowing  that  the 
Law  and  the  Pro})hets  were  now  fulfilled — not  fully  know- 
ing that  his  Lord  was  unspeakably  greater  than  the 
Prophet  of  Sinai  and  the  Avenger  of  Carmel — exclaimed, 
''Rabbi,  it  is  best  for  us  to  be  here;  and  let  us  make  three 
tabernacles,  one  for  thee,  and  one  for  Moses,  and  one  for 
Elias."  Jesus  might  have  smiled  at  the  naive  pi'oposal  of 
The  eager  Apostle,  that  they  six  should  dwell  forever  in 
little  sucroth  of  wattled  boughs  on  tiie  slopes  of  Hermon. 


THE  TRANSFIO URATION,  279 

But  it  was  not  for  Peter  to  construct  the  universe  for  his 
personal  satisfaction.  He  had  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
Calvary  no  less  than  that  of  Hermon.  Not  in  cloud  of 
glory  or  chariot  of  fire  was  Jesus  to  pass  away  from  them, 
but  with  arms  outstretched  in  agony  upon  the  accursed, 
tree  ;  not  between  Moses  and  Elias,  but  between  two 
thieves,  who  "were  crucified  with  Him,  on  either  side 
one." 

No  answer  was  vouchsafed  to  His  wild  and  dreamy 
words ;  but,  even  as  He  spake,  a  cloud — not  a  cloud  of 
thick  darkness  as  at  Sinai,  but  a  cloud  of  light,  a  She- 
chinah  of  radiance — overshadowed  them,  and  a  voice  from 
out  of  it  uttered,  "  This  is  my  beloved  Son  ;  hear  Him.'' 
They  fell  prostrate,  and  hid  their  faces  on  the  grass.  And 
as— awaking  from  the  overwlielming  shock  of  that  awful 
voice,  of  that  enfolding  Light — they  raised  their  eyes  and 
gazed  suddenly  all  around  them,  they  found  that  all  was 
over.  The  bright  cloud  had  vanished.  The  lightning- 
like gleams  of  shining  countenances  and  dazzling  robes 
had  passed  away;  they  were  alone  with  Jesus,  and  only  the 
stars  rained  their  quiet  luster  on  the  mountain  slopes. 

At  first  they  were  afraid  to  rise  or  stir,  but  Jesus,  their 
Master — as  they  had  seen  Him  before  He  knelt  in  prayer, 
came  to  them,  touched  them — said,  "Arise  and  be  not 
afraid." 

And  so  the  day  dawned  on  Hermon,  and  they  descended 
the  hill;  and  as  they  descended.  He  bade  them  tell  no  man 
until  He  had  risen  from  the  dead.  The  vision  was  for 
them  ;  it  was  to  be  pondered  over  by  them  in  the 
depths  of  their  own  hearts  in  self-denying  reticence  ;  to 
announce  it  to  their  fellow-disciples  might  only  Siwoke  their 
jealousy  and  their  own  self-satisfaction;  until  the  resurrec- 
tion it  would  add  nothing  to  the  faith  of  others,  and  might 
only  confuse  their  conce])tions  of  what  was  to  be  His  work 
on  "earth.  They  kept  Christ's  command,  but  they  could 
not  attach  any  meaning  to  this  allusion.  They  could  only 
ask  each  other,  or  muse  in  silence,  what  this  resurrection 
from  the  dead  could  mean.  And  another  serious  question 
weighed  upon  their  spirits.  They  iuul  seen  Elias.  _  They 
now  knew  more  fully  than  ever  tiuit  their  Lord  was  indeed 
the  Christ.  Yet  "  how  sav  the  Scribes"— and  had  not  the 
Scribes  the  prophecy  of  Malachi  in  their  favor?— ".that 


280  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Elias  must  first  come  aud  restore  all  things?"  And  then  our 
Lord  gently  led  them  to  see  that  Elias  indeed  had  come, 
and  had  not  been  recognized,  and  had  received  at  the  hand 
of  His  nation  the  same  fate  which  was  soon  to  happen  to 
liim  whom  He  announced.  Then  understood  they  that 
He  spake  to  them  of  John  the  Baptist. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE  DEMONIAC  BOY.  , 

The  imagination  of  all  readers  of  the  Gospels  has  been 
struck  by  the  contrast — a  contrast  seized  and  immortalized 
forever  in  the  great  picture  of  Raphael — between  the  peace, 
the  glory,  the  heavenly  coniiniinion  on  the  mountain 
heights,  and  the  confusion,  the  rage,  the  unbelief,  the 
agony  which  marked  the  first  scene  tlutt  met  the  eyes  of 
Jesus  and  His  Apostles  on  their  descent  to  the  low  levels  of 
human  life. 

For  in  their  absence  an  event  had  occurred  which  filled 
the  other  disciples  with  agitation  and  alarm.  They  saw  a 
crowd  assembled  and  Scribes  among  them,  who  with  dis- 
putes and  victorious  iniiendoes  were  pressing  hard  upon 
the  diminished  band  of  Christ's  chosen  friends. 

Suddenly  at  this  crisis  the  multitude  caught  sight  of 
Jesus.  Something  about  his  appearance,  some  unusual 
majesty,  some  lingering  radiance,  filled  them  with  amaze- 
ment, and  they  ran  up  to  Him  with  salutations.  "  What 
is  your  dispute  with  them  ?'"  He  sternly  asked  of  the 
Scribes.  But  the  Scribes  were  too  much  abashed,  the  dis- 
ciples were  too  self-conscious  of  their  faithlessness  and 
failure,  to  venture  on  any  reply.  Then  out  of  the  crowd 
struggled  a  man,  who,  kneeling  before  Jesus,  cried  out, 
in  a  loud  voice,  that  he  was  the  father  of  an  only  son 
whose  demoniac  possession  was  shown  by  epilepsy,  in  its 
most  raging  symptoms,  accompanied  by  dumbness, 
atrophy,  and  a  suicidal  mania.  He  had  brought  the 
miserable  sufferer  to  the  disciples  to  cast  out  the  evil 
spirit,  but  their  failure  had  occasioned  the  taunts  of  the 
Sci-jbes. 

'I'he  whole  scene  srrieved  Jesus  to  the  heart.     "0  faith- 


THE  D EMONIA C  BOY.  281 

less  and  perverse  generation, "  He  exclaimed,  "  how  long 
shall  I  be  with  you  ?  how  long  sliall  I  suffer  you  ?"  This 
cry  of  indignation  seemed  meant  for  all — for  the  merely 
curious  multitude,  for  the  malicious  Scribes,  for  the  half- 
believing  and  faltering  disciples.  "  Bring  him  hither  to 
me." 

The  poor  boy  was  brought  and  no  sooner  had  his  eye 
fallen  on  Jesus,  than  he  was  seized  with  another  paroxysm 
of  his  malady.  He  fell  on  the  ground  in  violent  convul- 
sions, and  rolled  there  with  foaming  lips.  It  was  the  most 
deadly  and  intense  form  of  epileptic  lunacy  on  which  our 
Lord  had  ever  been  called  to  take  compassion. 

He  paused  before  He  acted.  He  would  impress  the 
scene  in  all  its  horror  on  the  thronging  multitude,  that 
they  might  understand  that  the  failure  was  not  of  Him. 
He  would  at  tlie  same  time  invoke,  educe,  confirm  the 
wavering  faith  of  the  agonized  suppliant. 

"  How  long  has  this  happened  to  him  ?" 

"From  childhood:  and  often  hath  it  flung  him  both  into 
fire  and  into  water  to  destroy  him;  but  if  at  all  thou  canst, 
take  pity  on  us  and  help  us," 

"If  iliou  canst?''  answered  Jesus — giving  him  back  his 
own  words — "  all  things  are  possible  to  him  that  be- 
lieveth." 

And  then  the  poor  hapless  father  broke  out  into  that 
cry,  uttered  by  so  many  millions  since,  and  so  deeply  ap- 
plicable to  an  age  whicli,  like  our  own,  has  been  described 
as  ''destitute  of  faith,  yet  terrified  at  scepticism" — 
"Lord,  I  believe;  help  thou  mine  ■unbelief.''' 

Meanwhile,  during  this  short  colloquy,  the  crowd  had 
been  gathering  more  and  more,  and  Jesus,  turning  to  the 
sufferer,  said,  "  Dumb  and  deaf  spirit,  I  charge  thee,  come 
out  of  him,  and  enter  no  more  into  him."  A  yet  wilder 
cry,  a  yet  more  fearful  convulsion  followed  His  words, 
and  then  the  boy  lay  on  the  ground,  no  longer  wallowing 
and  foaming,  but  still  as  death.  Some  said,  '■  He  is  dead." 
But  Jesus  took  him  by  the  hand,  and,  amid  the  amazed 
exclamations  of  the  multitude,  restored  him  to  his  father, 
calm  and  cured. 

Jesus  liad  previously  given  to  His  disciples  the  power 
of  casting  out  devils,  and  this  power  was  even  exercised  in 
His  name  by  some  who  were  not  among  His  professed  dis- 


283  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ciples.  Nor  had  they  ever  failed  before.  It  was  therefore 
natural  that  they  should  take  the  first  private  opportunity 
to  ask  Iliin  the  cause  of  their  discomfiture.  He  told 
them  frankly  that  it  was  because  of  their  unbelief.  It  may 
be  that  the  sense  of  His  absence  weakened  them;  it  may  be 
that  they  felt  less  able  to  cope  with  difficulties  while  Peter 
and  the  sons  of  Zebedee  were  also  away  from  them  ;  it  may 
be,  too,  that  the  sad  prophecy  of  his  rejection  and  death  had 
worked  with  sinister  effect  on  the  minds  of  the  weakest 
of  them.  But,  at  any  rate.  He  took  this  opportunity  to 
teach  them  two  great  lessons;  the  one,  that  there  are  forms 
of  spiritual,  physical,  and  moral  evil  so  intense  and  so 
inveterate,  that  they  can  only  be  exorcised  by  prayer, 
united  to  that  self-control  and  self-denial  of  whicli  fasting 
is  the  most  effectual  and  striking  symbol;  the  otlier,  that 
to  a  perfect  faith  all  things  are  possible.  Faitli,  like 
a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  could  even  say  to  Hermon  itselt", 
"Be  thou  removed,  and  cast  into  the  waves  of  the  Great 
Sea,  and  it  should  obey." 

Jesus  had  now  wandered  to  the  ntmost  northern  limit 
of  the  Holy  Land,  and  he  began  to  turn  His  steps  home- 
ward. We  see  from  St.  Mark  that  His  return  was  design- 
edly secret  and  secluded,  and  possibly  not  along  the  high 
roads,  but  rather  through  tiie  hills  and  valleys  of  Uppei" 
Galilee,  to  the  westwanl  of  the  Jordan.  His  object  was 
no  longer  to  teach  the  multitudes  who  had  been  seduced 
into  rejecting  Him,  and  among  whom  He  could  hardly  ap- 
pear in  safety,  but  to  continue  that  other  and  even  more 
essGTitial  part  of  His  work,  which  consisted  in  the  training 
of  His  Apostles.  And  now  the  constant  subject  of  His 
teaching  was  His  approaching  betrayal,  murder  and  resur- 
rection. But  He  spoke  to  dull  hearts  ;  in  their  deep- 
seated  prejudice  they  ignored  His  clear  warnings,  in  their 
faithless  timidity  they  would  not  ask  for  further  enlight- 
enment. We  cannot  see  more  strikingly  how  vast  was  the 
change  which  the  resurrection  wrought  in  them  than  by 
observing  with  what  simple  truthfulness  they  record  the 
extent  and  inveteracy  of  their  own  shortcomings,  during 
those  precious  days  while  the  Lord  was  yet  among  them. 

The  one  thing  which  they  did  seem  to  realize  was  that 
some  strange  and  memorable  issue  of  Christ's  life,  accom- 
pamed  bj  some  great  develo<pmetit  of  the  Messianic  king- 


THE  DEMON  I  A  C  BO  Y.  283 

dom,  was  at  hand,  and  this  nnhappily  produced  the  only 
effect  in  them  which  it  should  not  have  produced.  Instead  of 
stimulating  their  self-denial,  it  awoke  their  ambition  ;  in- 
stead of  confirming  their  love  and  humility,  it  stirred  them 
up  to  jealousy  and  pride.  On  the  road,  remembering, 
perhaps,  the  preference  which  had  been  shown  at  Hermon 
to  Peter  and  the  sons  of  Zebedee — they  disputed  among 
themselves,  "  AVhich  should  be  the  greatest?" 

At  the  time  our  Lord  took  no  notice  of  the  dispute.  He 
left  their  own  consciences  to  work.  But  when  they  reached 
Capernaum  and  were  in  the  house,  then  He  asked  them, 
*'  What  tliey  had  been  disputing  about  on  the  way?  "  Deep 
shame  kept  them  silent,  and  that  silence  was  the  most  elo- 
quent confession  of  their  sinful  ambitions.  Then  He  sat 
down  and  taught  them  again,  as  He  had  done  so  often, 
that  he  who  would  be  first  must  be  last  of  all,  and  servant 
of  all,  and  that  the  road  to  honor  is  humility.  And  wish 
ing  to  enforce  His  lesson  by  a  symbol  of  exquisite  tender- 
ness and  beauty.  He  called  to  Him  a  little  child,  and  set 
it  in  the  midst,  and  then,  folding  it  in  His  arms,  warned 
them  that  unless  they  could  become  as  humble  as  that 
little  child,  they  could  not  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  They  were  to  be  as  children  in  the  world  ;  and 
he  who  should  receive  even  one  such  little  child  in  Christ's 
name,  should  be  receiving  Him  and  the  Father  who  sent 
Him. 

The  expression  "in  my  name"  seems  to  have  suggested 
to  St.  John  a  sudden  question,  which  broke  the  thread  of 
Christ's  discourse.  They  had  seen,  he  said,  a  man  who 
was  casting  out  devils  in  Christ's  name  ;  but  since  the  man 
was  not  one  of  them,  they  had  forbidden  him.  Had  they 
done  right  ? 

"No,"  Jesus  answered;  "let  the  prohibition  be  re- 
moved." He  who  could  do  works  of  mercy  in  Christ's 
name  could  not  lightly  speak  evil  of  that  name.  He  who  was 
not  against  them  was  with  them.  Sometimes  indifference 
is  opposition  ;  sometimes  neutrality  is  aid. 

And  then,  gently  resuming  His  discourse — the  child  yet 
nestling  in  His  arms,  and  furnishing  the  text  for  His  re- 
marks— He  warned  them  of  the  awful  guilt  and  peril  of 
offending,  of  tempting,  of  misleading,  of  seducing  from 
the  paths  of  innocence  and  lighteousness,  of  teaching  any 


284  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

wicked  tiling,  or  suggesting  any  wicked  tliought  to  one  of 
tliose  little  ones,  whose  angels  see  the  face  of  His  Father 
in  heaven.  Such  wicked  men  and  seducers,  such  human 
performers  of  the  devil's  work — addressing  them  in  words 
of  more  bitter,  crushing  import  than  any  which  He  ever 
uttered — a  worse  fate,  He  said,  awaited  them,  than  to  be 
flung  with  the  heaviest  millstone  round  their  neck  into 
the  sea. 

And  He  goes  on  to  warn  them  that  no  sacrifice  could  be 
too  great  if  it  enabled  them  to  escape  any  possible  tempta- 
tions to  put  such  stumbling  blocks  in  the  way  of  their  own 
souls,  or  the  souls  of  others.  Better  cut  off  the  right  hand, 
and  enter  heaven  maimed — better  hew  off  the  right  foot 
and  enter  heaven  halt — better  tear  out  the  right  eye,  and 
enter  heaven  blind- — than  suffer  liaud  or  foot  or  eye  to  be  the 
ministers  of  sins  which  should  feed  the  undying  worm  or 
kindle  the  quenchless  flame.  Better  be  drowned  in  this 
world  with  a  millstone  I'ound  the  neck,  than  carry  that 
moral  and  spiritual  millstone  of  unresisted  temptation 
which  can  di'ovvn  the  guilty  soul  in  the  fiery  lake  of  alien- 
ation and  despair.  For,  just  as  salt  is  sprinkled  over 
every  sacrifice  for  its  purification,  so  must  every  soul  be 
})urged  by  fire;  by  the  fire,  if  need  be,  of  the  severest  and 
most  terrible  self-sacrifice.  Let  this  refining,  purging, 
jiurifying,  fire  of  seai'ching  self-judgment  and  self-severity 
be  theirs.  Let  not  this  salt  lose  its  savor,  nor  this  fire  its 
purifying  power.  "  Have  salt  in  yourselves,  and  be  at 
peace  with  one  another.'" 

And  thus,  at  once  to  confirm  the  duty  of  this  mutual 
l)eace  which  they  had  violated,  and  to  show  them  that, 
however  deeply  rooted  be  God's  anger  against  those  who 
lead  others  asti'ay,  tliey  must  never  cherish  hatred  even 
against  those  who  lunl  most  deeply  injured  them.  He 
taught  them  how,  first  by  private  expostulation,  then  if 
necessary  by  public  appeal  at  once  most  gently  and  most 
effectually  to  deal  with  an  offending  brother.  Peter,  in 
the  true  spirit  of  Judaic  formalism,  wanted  a  specific  limit 
to  the  number  of  times  when  forgiveness  should  be 
granted  ;  but  Jesus  taught  that  the  times  of  forgiveness 
siiould  be  practically  unlimited.  He  illustrated  that 
teaching  by  the  beautiful  parable  of  the  servant,  who, 
having  been  forgiven  by  his  king  a  debt  of   ten  thousand 


A  BRIEF  REST  TN  CAPERNA  UM.  285 

talents,  immediately  afterward  seized  his  fellow-servant  by 
the  throat,  and  wonld  not  forgive  him  a  miserable  little 
debt  of  one  hundred  pence,  a  sum  1,250,000  times  as  small 
as  that  which  he  himself  had  been  forgiven.  The  child 
whom  Jesus  had  held  in  His  arms  might  have  understood 
that  moral;  yet  how  infinitely  more  deep  must  its  meaning 
"be  to  us — who  have  been  trained  from  childhood  in  the 
knowledge  of  His  atoning  love — than  it  could  have  been, 
at  the  time  when  it  was  spoken,  to  even  a  Peter  or  a  John. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A    BRIEF   REST   IN   CAPERNAUM. 

One  more  incident,  related  by  St.  Matthew  only,  marked 
his  brief  stay  on  this  occasion  in  Capernaum. 

From  time  immemorial  there  was  a  precedent  for  collect- 
ing, at  least  occasionally,  on  the  recurrence  of  every 
census,  a  tax  of  "half  a  shekel,  after  the  shekel  of  the 
sanctuary,"  of  every  Jaw  who  had  reached  the  age  of 
twenty  years,  as  a  "ransom  for  his  soul,"  unto  the  Lord. 
This  money  was  devoted  to  the  service  of  the  Temple,  and 
was  expended  on  the  purchase  of  the  sacrifices,  scapegoats, 
red  heifers,  incense,  shewbread,  and  other  expenses  of  the 
Temple  service.  After  the  return  from  the  captivity,  this 
le  ah,  or  half-shekel,  became  a  voluntary  annual  tax  of  a 
third  of  a  shekel  ;  but  at  some  subsequent  period  it  had 
again  returned  to  its  original  amount.  This  tax  was  paid 
by  every  Jew  in  every  part  of  the  world,  whether  rich  or 
poor;  and,  as  on  the  first  occasion  of  its  payment,  to  show 
that  the  souls  of  all  alike  are  equal  before  God,  "  the  rich 
paid  no  more,  and  the  poor  no  less."  It  produced  vast 
sums  of  money,  which  were  conveyed  to  Jerusalem  by 
honorable  messengers. 

This  tax  was  only  so  far  compulsory  that  when  first  de- 
manded, on  the  1st  of  Adar,  the  demand  was  made  quietly 
and  civilly  ;  if,  however,  it  had  not  been  paid  by  the  25Ui, 
then  it  seems  that  the  collectors  of  the  contribution 
{tobhin  shekaUm)  might  take  a  security  for  it  from  the 
defaulter. 

Accordingly,  almost  immediately  upon  our  Lord's  return 


3H(5  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

to  C'aperuaiun,  tliese  tobhiii  sJiel-aliin  came  to  St.  Peter, 
and  asked  him,  quite  civilly,  as  the  Rabbis  had  directed, 
"  Does  not  your  master  pay  the  didrachmas?" 

The  question  suggests  two  difficulties — viz.,  Why  had 
our  Lord  not  been  asked  for  this  contribution  in  previous 
years?  and  why  was  it  now  demanded  in  autumn,  at  the 
approach  of  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  instead  of  in  the 
month  Adar,  some  six  months  earlier?  The  answer  seems 
to  be  that  priests  and  eminent  rabbis  were  regarded  as 
exempt  from  the  tax  ;  that  our  Lord's  frequent  absence 
from  Capernaum  caused  some  irregularity;  and  that  it  was 
permitted  to  pay  arrears  some  time  afterward. 

The  fact  that  the  collectors  inquired  of  St.  Peter  instead 
of  asking  Jesus  Himself,  is  another  of  the  very  numerous 
indications  of  the  awe  which  He  inspired  even  into  the 
lieart  of  His  bitterest  enemies  :  as  in  all  probability  the 
fact  of  the  demand  being  made  at  all  shows  a  growing  de- 
sire to  vex  His  life,  and  to  ignore  His  dignity.  But  Peter, 
Avith  his  usual  impetuous  readiness,  without  waiting,  as  he 
should  have  done,  to  consult  His  Master,  replied,  "Yes.'" 

If  he  had  thought  a  moment  longer— if  he  had  known  a 
little  more — if  he  had  even  recalled  his  own  great  confes- 
sion so  recently  given — his  answer  might  not  have  come  so 
glibly.  This  money  was,  at  any  rate,  in  its  original  sig- 
nificance, a  redemption -money  for  the  soul  of  each  man  ; 
and  how  could  the  Redeemer,  who  redeemed  all  souls  by 
the  ransom  of  His  life,  pay  this  money-ransom  for  his  own? 
And  it  was  a  tax  for  the  Temple  services.  How,  then, 
could  it  be  due  from  Him  whose  own  mortal  body  was  the 
new  spiritual  Temple  of  the  Living  God?  He  was  to 
enter  the  vail  of  the  Holiest  with  the  ransom  of  His  own 
blood.  But  He  paid  what  He  did  not  owe,  to  save  us 
from  that  which  we  owed,  but  could  never  pay. 

Accordingly,  when  Peter  entered  the  house,  conscious, 
perliaps,  by  this  time,  that  his  answer  had  been  premature 
— perhaps  also  conscious  that  at  that  moment  there  were 
no  means  of  meeting  even  this  small  demand  upon  their 
scanty  store — Jesus,  without  waiting  for  any  expression  of 
his  en)barrassment,  at  once  said  to  him,  "  What  tliinkest 
thou,  Simon?  the  kings  of  the  earth,  from  whom  do  they 
take  tolls  and  taxes?  from  their  own  sous,  or  from  those 
who  are  not  their  children?" 


A  BRIKF  REST  IN  CAPERNA  UM  28? 

There  could  be  but  one  answer — ''  From  those  who  are 
not  their  childreu." 

"Tlien,"said  Jesus,  "•  the  sons  are  free.  I,  the  Son  of 
the  Great  King,  and  even  thou,  who  art  also  His  son, 
though  in  a  different  way,  are  not  bound  to  pay  this  tax. 
If  we  pay  it,  the  payment  must  be  a  matter,  not  of  positive 
obligation,  as  the  Pharisees  have  lately  decided,  but  of  free 
and  cheerful  giving." 

There  is  something  beautiful  and  even  playful  in  this 
gentle  way  of  showing  to  the  impetuous  Apostle  the 
dilemma  in  which  his  hasty  answer  had  placed  his  Lord. 
We  see  in  it,  as  Luther  says,  the  fine,  friendly,  loving  in- 
tercourse which  must  have  existed  betweeen  Christ  and 
His  disciples.  It  seems,  at  the  same  time,  to  establish  the 
eternal  principle  that  religious  services  should  be  main- 
tained by  spontaneous  generosity  and  an  innate  sense  of  duty 
rather  than  in  consequence  of  external  compulsion.  But 
yet,  what  is  lawful  is  not  always  expedient,  nor  is  there  any- 
thing more  thoroughly  unchristian  than  the  violent  main- 
tenance of  the  strict  letter  of  our  rights.  The  Christian 
■will  always  love  rather  to  recede  from  something  of  his 
privilege — to  take  less  than  is  his  due.  And  so  He,  in 
whose  steps  all  ought  to  walk,  calmly  added,  "  Neverthe- 
less, lest  we  should  offend  them "  (put  a  difficulty  or 
stumbling-block  in  their  way),  "go  thou  to  the  sea  and 
cast  a  hook,  and  take  the  first  fish  that  cometh  up;  and 
opening  its  mouth  thou  shalt  find  a  stater:  that  take  and 
give  unto  them  for  Me  and  for  thee."  In  the  very  act  of 
submission,  as  Bengel  finely  says,  "His  majesty  gleams 
forth."  He  would  pay  the  contribution  to  avoid  hurting 
the  feelings  of  any,  and  especially  because  His  Apostle  had 
promised  it  in  His  behalf  :  but  He  could  not  pay  it  in  an 
ordinary  way,  because  that  would  be  to  compromise  a  prin- 
ciple. In  obeying  the  law  of  charity,  and  of  self-surrender, 
He  would  also  obey  the  laws  of  dignity  and  truth,  "  He 
pays  tlie  tribute,  therefore,"  saysClarius,  "  but  taken  from 
a  fish's  mouth,  that  His  majesty  may  be  recognized." 

When  Paulus,  with  somewhat  vulgar  jocosity,  calls  this 
"a  miracle  for  half-a-crown,"  heonly  shows  his  own  entire 
misconception  of  the  fine  ethical  lessons  which  are  involved 
in  the  narrative,  and  which  in  this,  as  in  every  other  in- 
stance,   separate   our    Lord's   miracles   from  those  of  the 


288  THE  TAFK  OF  riinrsT, 

Apocrypha.  Yet  I  agree  with  the  learned  atid  tlionghtful 
Olshauseu  in  regarding  this  as  the  most  difficult  to  com- 
prehend of  all  the  Gospel  miracles — as  being  in  many 
respects,  sui  generii< — as  not  falling  under  the  same  cate- 
gory as  the  other  miracles  of  Christ.  "  It  is  remarkable," 
says  Archbishop  Trench,  "  and  is  a  solitary  instance  of  the 
kind,  that  the  issue  of  this  bidding  is  not  told  us."  He 
goes  on,  indeed,  to  say  that  the  narrative  is  evidently  ioi- 
tendcd  to  be  niiniculons,  and  this  is  the  impression  which 
it  has  almost  universally  left  on  the  minds  of  those  who 
read  it.  Yet  the  literal  translation  of  our  Lord^s  words 
may  most  certainly  be,  "on  opening  its  mouth,  thou  shalt 
get,  or  obtain,  a  stater;"  and  although  there  is  no  difficulty 
whatever  in  supposing  that  a  fish  may  have  swallowed  the 
glittering  coiji  as  it  was  accidentally  dropped  into  the 
water,  nor  should  I  feel  the  slightest  difl^iculty  in  believing 
• — as  1  hope  that  this  book,  from  its  first  page  to  its  last, 
will  show — that  a  miracle  might  have  been  wrought,  yet 
the  peculiarities  both  of  the  miracle  itself  and  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  is  narrated,  leave  in  my  mind  a  doubt  as  to 
whether,  in  this  instance,  some  essential  particular  may 
not  have  been  either  omitted  or  left  unexplained. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

JESUS  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  TABERNACLES. 

It  was  not  likely  that  Jesus  should  have  been  able  to  live 
at  Capernaum  without  the  fact  of  His  visit  being  known 
to  some  of  the  inhabitants.  But  it  is  clear  that  His  stay 
in  the  town  was  very  brief,  and  that  it  was  of  a  strictly 
private  character.  The  discourse  and  the  incident  men- 
tioned in  the  last  chapter  are  the  only  records  of  it  which 
are  left. 

But  it  was  now  autumn,  and  all  Galilee  was  in  the  stir 
of  preparation  which  preceded  the  starting  of  the  annual 
caravan  of  pilgrims  to  one  of  the  three  great  yearly  feasts 
—  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles.  That  feast  —  the  Feast  of 
Ingathering — was  intended  to  commemorate  the  passage  of 
the  Israelites  through  the  wilderness,  and  was  celebrated 
with  such  universal  joy,  that  both  Josephus  and  Philo  call 


JESUS  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  TABERNACLES.         289 

it  "the  holiest  and  greatest  feast,"  and  it  was  known 
among  the  Jews  as  "the  Feast"  pre-eminently.  It  was 
kept  for  seven  consecutive  days,  from  the  loth  to  the  21st 
of  Tisri,  and  the  eighth  day  was  cele orated  by  a  holy  con- 
vocation. During  the  seven  days  the  Jews,  to  recall  their 
desert  wanderings,  lived  in  little  succoth,  or  booths  made 
of  the  thickly-foliaged  boughs  of  olive,  and  palm,  and  pine, 
and  myrtle,  and  each  person  carried  in  his  hands  a  lulab, 
consisting  of  palm-branches,  or  willows  of  the  brook,  or 
fruits  of  peach  and  citron.  During  the  week  of  festivities 
all  the  courses  of  priests  were  employed  in  turn  ;  seventy 
bullocks  were  offered  in  sacrifice  for  the  seventy  nations  of 
the  world  ;  the  Law  was  daily  read,  and  on  each  day  the 
Temple  trumpets  sounded  twenty-one  times  an  inspiring 
and  triumphant  blast.  The  joy  of  the  occasion  was  doubt- 
less deepened  by  the  fact  that  tlie  feast  followed  but  four 
days  after  the  awful  and  comforting  ceremonies  of  the 
Great  Day  of  atonement,  in  which  a  solemn  expiation  was 
made  for  the  sins  of  all  the  people. 

On  the  eve  of  their  departure  for  this  feast  the  family 
and  relations  of  our  Lord — those  who  in  the  Gospels  are 
invariably  called  His  "'  brethren,"  and  some  of  whose  de- 
scendants were  known  to  early  tradition  as  the  Desposyni 
— came  to  Him  for  the  last  time  with  a  well-meant  but 
painful  and  presumptuous  interference.  They — like  tlie 
Pharisees,  and  like  the  multitude,  and  like  Peter — fancied 
that  they  knew  better  than  Jesus  Himself  that  line  of  con- 
duct which  would  best  accomplish  His  work  and  hasten 
the  universal  recognition  of  His  claims.  They  came  to 
Him  with  tht-  language  of  criticism,  of  discontent,  almost 
of  reproaches  and  complaints.  "  Why  this  unreasonable 
and  incomprehensible  secrecy?  it  contradicts  thy  claims  ; 
it  discourages  thy  followers.  T'hou  hast  disciples  in 
JudEea  :  go  thither,  and  let  them  too  see  Thy  works  which 
Thou  doest?  If  Thou  doest  these  things,  manifest  Thyself 
to  the  world."  If  they  could  use  such  language  to  their 
Lord  and  Master — if  they  could,  as  it  were,  thus  cliallenge 
His  power  to  the  proof — it  is  but  too  plain  that  their 
knowledge  of  Him  was  so  narrow  and  so  inadequate  as  to 
justify  the  sad  parenthesis  of  the  beloved  Evangelist — 
"  for  not  even  His  brethren  believed  on  Him."  He  was  a 
stranger  unto  His  brethren,  even  an  alien  unto  His 
mother's  children. 


390  TIIPJ  LIVE  OF  CHRIST. 

Such  dictation  on  tlieir  part — the  bitter  fruit  of  impa- 
tieut  vanity  and  unspiritual  ignorance — showed  indeed  a 
most  blameable  presumption  ;  yet  our  Lord  only  answered 
them  with  calm  and  gentle  dignity.  "No;  my  time  to 
manifest  myself  to  the  world — which  is  your  world  also, 
and  which  therefore  cannot  hate  you  as  it  hates  me — is  not 
yet  come.  Go  ye  up  to  this  feast.  I  choose  not  to  go  up 
to  this  feast,  for  not  yet  has  my  time  been  fulfilled/'  So 
lie  answered  them,  and  stayed  in  Galilee. 

"■  I  go  not  up  yet  unto  this  feast "  is  the  rendering  of 
the  English  version,  adopting  the  reading  ovnoo,  "  not 
yet;"  but  even  if  ovh,  "not"  be  tlie  true  reading,  the 
meaning  is  substantially  the  same.  Tl)e  ounoa  in  the  next 
clause,  "  my  time  has  not  yet  been  fulfilled,"  distinctly  in- 
timated that  such  a  tiine  ivoukl  come,  and  that  it  was  not 
His  object  to  intimate  to  His  brethren — whose  utter  want  of 
sympathy  and  reverence  had  just  been  so  unhappily  dis- 
played— when  that  time  would  be.  And  there  was  a  reason 
for  this.  It  was  essential  for  the  safety  of  His  life,  which 
was  not  to  end  for  six  montlis  more — it  was  essential  for 
the  carrying  out  of  His  Divine  purposes,  which  were 
closely  enwoven  with  the  events  of  tlie  next  few  days — that 
His  brethren  should  not  know  about  His  plans.  And 
therefore  He  let  them  depart  in  tlie  completest  uncertainty 
as  to  whether  or  not  He  intended  to  follow  them.  Certain 
as  they  were  to  be  asked  by  multitudes  whether  He  was 
coming  to  the  feast,  it  was  necessary  that  they  should  be 
able  to  answer,  with  perfect  truthfulness,  that  He  was  at 
any  rate  not  coming  with  them,  and  that  whether  He  would 
come  before  the  feast  was  over  or  not  they  could  not  tell. 
And  that  this  must  have  occurred,  and  that  this  must 
have  been  their  answer,  is  evident  from  the  fact  that  the 
one  question  buzzed  about  from  ear  to  ear  in  those  ga}'  and 
busy  streets  was,  "Where  is  He?  is  He  here  already  ?  is 
He  coming?"  And  as  He  did  not  appear.  His  whole  char- 
acter. His  whole  mission  were  discussed.  The  words  of 
approval  were  vague  and  timid.  "  He  is  a  good  man;" 
the  words  of  condemnation  were  bitter  and  emphatic, 
"Nay,  but  He  is  a  me.sith  —  He  deceiveth  the  people." 
But  no  one  dared  to  speak  openly  his  full  thought  about 
Him  ;  each  seemed  to  distrust  his  neighbor  ;  and  all  feared 
to  commit  themselves   too  far   while  the  opinion  of    the 


JE8 US  AT  THE  FEA ST  OF  TABERNA CL ES.         291 

"  Jews,"  and  of  the  leading  Priests  and  Pharisees,  had  not 
been  finally  or  decisively  declared. 

And  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  murmurs  and 
discussions,  in  the  middle  of  the  feast,  Jesus,  unaccom- 
panied apparently  by  His  followers,  unheralded  by  His 
friends,  appeared 'suddenly  in  the  Temple,  and  taught.  By 
what  route  He  had  reached  the  Holy  City — how  He  had 
passed  through  the  bright  thronged  streets  unnoticed — 
whether  he  joined  in  tlie  innocent  mirth  of  the  festival — 
whether  He  too  lived  in  a  little  succah  of  palm-leaves 
during  the  remainder  of  the  week,  and  wandered  among 
the  brightly-dressed  crowds  of  an  Oriental  gala  day  with 
the  lulab  and  citron  in  His  hands — whethcM-  His  voice  was 
heard  in  the  Hallel,  or  the  gi-eat  Hosanna — we  do  not 
know.  All  that  is  told  us  is  that,  tiirowiiig  himself,  as  it 
were,  in  full  confidence  on  the  protection  of  His  disciples 
from  Galilee  and  those  in  Jerusalem,  He  was  suddenly 
found  seated  in  one  of  tlie  large  halls  which  opened  out  of 
the  Temple  courts,  and  there  He  taught. 

For  a  time  they  listened  to  Him  in  awe-struck  silence; 
but  soon  the  old  scruples  recurred  to  theui.  "He  is  no 
authorized  Rabbi  ;  He  belongs  to  no  recognized  school ; 
neither  the  followers  of  Hillel  nor  those  of  Shammai  claim 
Him  ;  He  is  a  Nazarene  ;  He  was  trained  in  the  shop  of 
the  Galilsean  carpenter  ;  how  knoweth  this  man  letters, 
having  never  learned?"  As  though  the  few  who  are 
taught  of  God — whose  learning  is  the  learning  of  a  pure 
heart  and  an  enlightened  eye  and  a  blameless  life — did  not 
iinspeakably  transcend  in  wisdom,  and  therefore  also  in 
the  best  and  truest  knowledge,  those  whose  learning  has 
but  come  from  other  men  !  It  is  not  the  voice  of  erudition, 
but  it  is,  as  the  old  Greek  thinker  says,  the  voice  of 
Inspiration— the  voice  of  the  divine  Sybil— which,  uttering 
things  simple  and  unperfumed  and  unadorned,  reacheth 
through  myriads  of  years. 

Jesus  understood  their  looks.  He  interpreted  their 
murmurs.  He  told  them  that  His  learning  came  immedi- 
ately froui  His  Heavenly  Father,  and  they  too,  if  they  did 
God's  will,  might  learn,  and  might  understand,  thesame 
high  lessons.  In  all  ages  there  is  a  lendency  to  mistake 
erudition  for  learning,  knowledge  for  wisdom  ;  in  all  ages 
there   has   been  a  slowness  to  comprehend  that  true  learn- 


20!3  TJIh:  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ing  of  the  deepest  aiul  noblest  character  may  co-exist  with 
complete  and  utter  ignorance  of  everything  which  absorbs 
and  constitiit(!S  the  learning  of  the  schools.  In  one  sense 
Jesus  told  his  hearers — they  knew  the  law  which  Moses 
had  given  them  ;  in  another  they  were  pitiably  ignoi-ant  of 
it.  They  could  not  understand  its  principles,  because 
they  were  not  ''faithful  to  its  precepts."  And  then  He 
asked  them  openly,  "  Why  go  ye  about  to  kill  me?" 

That  determination  to  kill  Him  was  known  indeed  to 
Him,  and  known  to  some  of  those  who  heard  Him,  but 
was  a  guilty  secret  which  had  been  concealed  from  the 
msijority  of  the  multitude.  These  answered  the  question, 
while  the  others  kept  their  guilty  silence.  "Thou  hast  a 
devil,"  the  people  answered;  "who  goeth  about  to  kill 
Thee?"  Why  did  they  speak  with  such  superfluous  and 
brutal  bluntness  ?  Do  not  we  repudiate,  with  far  less 
flaming  indignation,  a  charge  which  we  know  to  be  not 
only  false,  but  wholly  preposterous  and  foundationless  ? 
Was  there  not  in  the  minds  even  of  this  not  yet  wholly 
alienated  multitude  an  uneasy  sense  of  their  distance  from 
the  Speaker — of  that  unutterable  superiority  to  themselves 
which  pained  and  shamed  and  irritated  them  ?  Were  they 
not  conscious,  in  their  carnal  and  vulgar  aspirations,  that 
this  Prophet  came,  not  to  condescend  to  such  views  as 
theirs,  but  to  raise  them  to  a  region  where  they  felt  that 
they  could  not  breathe  ?  Was  there  not  even  then  in  their 
hearts  something  of  the  half-unconscious  hatred  of  vice  to 
virtue,  the  repulsion  of  darkness  against  light  ?  Would 
they  have  said,  "Thou  hast  a  devil,"  when  they  heard 
Him  say  that  some  of  them  were  plotting  against  His  life, 
if  they  had  not  felt  that  they  were  tliemselves  capable  at 
almost  any  moment  of  joining  in  —  ay,  with  their  own 
hands  of  executing — so  base  a  plot  ? 

Jesus  did  not  notice  their  coarse  insolence.  He  referred 
them  to  that  one  work  of  healing  on  the  Sabbath  day 
(John  V.  5),  at  which  tliey  were  all  still  marvelling,  with 
an  empty  wonder,  that  He  who  had  the  power  to  perforni 
such  a  deed  should,  in  performing  it,  have  risen  above 
their  empty,  ceremonial,  fetish-worshiping  notions  of 
Sabbath  sanctity.  And  Jesus,  who  ever  loved  to  teach  the 
lesson  that  love  and  not  literalism  is  the  fulfilling  of  tho 
Law,  showed  them,  even  on  their  own  purely  ritual  and 


JESUS  AT  THE  FMAST  OF  TABERNACLES.        293 

Levitical  principle,  tliat  His  word  of  healing  had  in  no 
respect  violated  the  Sabbath  at  all.  For  instance,  Moses 
had  established,  or  rather  re-established,  the  ordinance  of 
circumcision  on  the  eighth  day,  and  if  that  eighth  day 
happened  to  be  a  Sabbath,  they  without  scruple  sacrificed 
the  one  ordinance  to  the  other,  and  in  spite  of  the  labor 
which  it  involved,  performed  the  rite  of  circumcision  on 
the  Sabbath  day.  If  the  law  of  circumcision  superseded 
that  of  the  Sabbath,  did  not  the  law  of  mercy  ?  If  it  was 
right  by  a  series  of  actions  to  inflict  that  wound,  was  it 
wrong  by  a  single  word  to  effect  a  total  cure  ?  If  that, 
which  was  at  the  best  but  a  sign  of  deliverance,  could  not 
even  on  account  of  the  Sabbath  be  postponed  for  a  single 
day,  why  was  it  criminal  not  to  have  postponed  for  the  sake 
of  the  Sabbath  a  deliverance  actual  and  entire  ?  And  then 
He  summed  His  self-defence  in  the  one  calm  word,  "  Do 
not  be  ever  judging  by  the  mere  appearance,  but  judge  a 
righteous  judgment ;"  instead  of  being  permanently  con- 
tent with  a  superficial  mode  of  criticism,  come  once  for  all 
to  some  principle  of  righteous  decision. 

His  hearers  were  perplexed  and  amazed,  *'Is  this  He 
against  whose  life  some  are  plotting  ?  Can  He  be  the 
Messiah  ?  Nay,  He  cannot  be  ;  for  we  know  whence  this 
speaker  comes,  whereas  they  say  that  none  shall  know 
whence  the  Messiah  shall  have  come  when  he  appears." 

There  was  a  certain  irony  in  the  answer  of  Jesus.  They 
knew  whence  He  came  and  all  about  Him,  and  yet,  in 
very  truth,  He  came  not  of  Himself,  but  from  One  of 
whom  they  knew  nothing.  This  word  maddened  still 
more  some  of  His  hearers.  They  longed  but  did  not  dare 
to  seize  Him,  and  all  the  more  because  there  were  some 
whom  these  words  convinced,  and  who  appealed  to  His 
many  miracles  as  irresistible  proof  of  His  sacred  claims. 
The  Sanhedrin,  seated  in  fi'cquent  session  in  their  stone 
hall  of  meeting  within  the  immediate  precincts  of  the 
Temple,  were,  by  means  of  their  emissaries,  kept  informed 
of  all  that  He  did  and  said,  and,  without  seeming  to  do 
so,  watched  His  every  movement  with  malignant  and 
jealous  eyes.  These  whispered  arguments  in  His  favor, 
this  deepened  awe  of  Him  and  belief  in  Him,  which, 
despite  their  authority,  was  growing  up  under  their  very 
eyes,  seemed  to  them  at  once  humiliating  and  dangerous, 


294  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

They  determined  on  a  bolder  course  of  action.  They  sent 
out  emissaries  to  seize  Ilim  suddenly  and  stealthily,  at  the 
first  opportunity  which  should  occur.  But  Jesus  showed 
no  fear.  He  was  to  be  with  them  a  little  longer,  then,  and 
not  till  then,  should  He  return  to  Him  that  sent  Him. 
Then,  indeed,  they  would  seek  Him — seek  Him,  not  as 
now  with  hostile  intentions,  but  in  all  the  crushing  agony 
of  remorse  and  shame  ;  but  their  search  would  be  in  vain. 
His  enemies  wholly  failed  to  understand  the  allusion.  In 
the  troubled  and  terrible  days  which  were  to  come  they 
would  understand  it  only  too  bitterly  and  well.  Now  they 
could  only  jeeringly  conjecture  that  possibly  He  had  some 
wild  intention  of  going  to  teach  among  the  Gentiles. 

So  passed  this  memorable  day  :  and  again,  on  the  last 
day  of  the  feast,  Jesus  was  standing  in  the  temple.  Oil 
each  day  of  the  seven,  and,  possibly,  even  on  the  eighth, 
there  was  a  significant  and  joyous  ceremony.  At  early 
morning  the  people  repaired  to  the  Temple,  and  when  the 
morning  sacrifice  had  been  laid  on  the  altar,  one  of  the 
priests  went  down  with  a  golden  ewer  to  the  Pool  of 
Siloam,  not  far  from  the  foot  of  Mount  Sion.  There, 
with  great  solemnity,  he  drew  three  logs  of  water,  which 
were  then  carried  in  triumphant  procession  through  the 
water-gate  into  the  Temple.  As  he  entered  the  Temple 
courts  the  sacred  trumpets  breathed  out  a  joyous  blast, 
which  continued  till  he  reached  the  top  of  the  altar  slope, 
and  there  poured  the  water  into  a  silver  basin  on  the 
western  side,  while  wine  was  poured  into  anotlier  silver 
basin  on  the  eastern  side.  Then  the  great  Hallel  was  sung, 
and  when  they  came  to  the  verse  "  Oh,  give  thanks  unto 
the  Lord,  for  He  is  good  :  for  His  jnercy  endureth  for 
ever,"  each  of  tlie  gaily-clad  worshipers,  as  he  stood 
beside  the  altars,  shook  his  hdab  in  triumph.  In  the 
evening  they  abandoned  themselves  to  sncli  rejoicing  that 
the  Rabbis  say  that  the  man  who  has  not  seen  this 
''joy  of  the  drawing  water"  does  not  know  what  joy 
means. 

In  evident  allusion  to  this  glad  custom  —  perhaps  in 
sympathy  with  that  sense  of  something  missing  which 
sncceeded  the  disuse  of  it  on  the  eighth  day  of  the  feast — 
Jesus  pointed  the  yearnings  of  the  festal  crowd  in  the 
Temple,  as  He  had  done  those  of  the  Samaritan  woman 


JESUS  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  TABERNACLES.        295 

by  the  lonely  well,  to  a  new  truth,  and  to  one  which  more 
than  fulfilled  alike  the  spiritual  (Isa.  xii.  3)  and  the  his- 
torical meaning  (1  Cor.  x.  4)  of  the  scenes  which  they  had 
Avitnessed.  He  "stood  and  cried.  If  any  man  thirst,  let 
him  come  unto  me  and  drink.  He  that  believeth  on  me, 
as  the  Scripture  hath  said,  out  of  his  beily  shall  flow 
rivers  of  living  water."  And  the  best  of  them  felt  iii 
their  inmost  soul — and  this  is  the  strongest  of  all  the  evi- 
dences of  Christianity  for  those  who  believe  heart  and  soul 
in  a  God  of  love  who  cares  for  His  children  in  the  family 
of  man — that  they  had  deep  need  of  a  comfort  and  sal- 
vation, of  the  outpouring  of  a  Holy  Spirit,  which  He  who 
sDake  to  them  could  alone  bestow.  But  the  very  fact  that 
some  were  beginning  openly  to  speak  of  Him  as  the 
Prophet  and  the  Christ,  only  exasperated  the  others. 
Tliey  had  a  small  difficulty  of  their  own  creating,  founded 
on  pure  ignorance  of  fact,  but  which  yet  to  their  own 
narrow  dogmatic  fancy  was  irresistible — "Shall  Christ 
come  out  of  Galilee  ?  must  He  not  come  from  Bethlehem? 
of  David's  seed  ?" 

It  was  during  this  division  of  opinion  that  the  officers 
whom  the  Pharisees  had  dispatched  to  seize  Jesus,  returned 
to  them  without  having  even  attempted  to  carry  out  their 
design.  As  they  hovered  among  the  Temple  courts,  as 
they  stood  half-sheltered  behind  the  Temple  pillars,  not 
unobserved,  it  may  be,  by  Him  for  whom  they  were  lying 
in  wait,  they  too  could  not  fail  to  hear  some  of  the  divine 
words  which  flowed  out  of  His  mouth.  And,  hearing 
them,  they  could  not  fulfill  their  mission.  A  sacred  spell 
was  upon  them,  which  they  were  unable  to  resist ;  a  force 
infinitely  more  powerful  than  their  own,  unnerved  their 
strength  and  paralyzed  their  will.  To  listen  to  Him  was 
not  only  to  be  disarmed  in  every  attempt  against  Him,  it 
was  even  to  be  half-converted  from  bitter  enemies  to  awe- 
struck disciples.  "Never  man  spake  like  this  man,"  was 
all  that  they  could  say.  That  bold  disobedience  to 
positive  orders  must  have  made  them  afraid  of  the  possible 
consequences  to  themselves,  but  obedience  would  have 
required  a  courage  even  greater,  to  say  nothing  of  that 
rankling  wound  wherewith  an  awakened  conscience  ever 
pierces  the  breast  of  crime. 

The  Pharisees  could  only  meet  them  with  angry  taunts. 


296  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"Wliat,  yo  too  intend  to  accept  this  Prophet-of  the  igno- 
rant, this  favorite  of  the  accursed  and  miserable  mob!" 
Tlien  Nicodemus  ventured  on  a  timid  word,  *'  Ought  you 
not  to  try,  before  yon  condemn  Him?"  Tliey  had  no  reply 
to  the  justice  of  that  principle:  they  could  only  fall  back 
again  on  taunts — "Are  you  then  a  Galilean?"  and  then 
the  old  ignorant  dogmatism,  ''Search,  and  look  :  for  out 
of  Galilee  ariseth  no  prophet." 

Where  then,  as  we  have  asked  already,  was  Gathhepher, 
whence  Jonah  came?  where  Thisbe,  whence  Elijah  came? 
where  Elkosh,  whence  Nahum  came?  where  the  northern 
town  whence  Hosea  came?  The  more  recent  Jews,  with 
better  knowledge  of  Scripture,  declare  that  the  Messiah  is 
to  come  from  Galilee;  and  they  settle  at  Tiberias,  because 
they  believe  that  He  will  rise  from  the  waters  of  the  lake; 
and  at  Safed,  "  the  city  set  on  a  hill,"  because  they  be- 
lieve that  He  will  there  first  fix  His  throne.  But  there  is 
no  ignorance  so  deep  as  the  ignorance  that  will  not  know; 
no  blindness  so  incurable  as  the  blindness  M'hich  will  not 
see.  And  the  dogmatism  of  a  nari'ow  and  stolid  prejudice 
which  believes  itself  to  be  theological  learning  is,  of  all 
others,  the  most  ignorant  and  the  most  blind.  Such  was 
the  spirit  in  which,  ignoring  the  mild  justice  of  Nicode- 
nius,  and  the  marvelous  impression  made  by  Jesus  even  on 
their  own  hostile  apparitors,  the  majority  of  the  Sanhedrin 
broke  up,  and  went  each  to  his  own  home. 


CHAPTEE  XL. 

THE   WOMAN   TAKEN   IN   ADULTERY. 

In  the  difficulties  which  beset  the  celebrated  incident 
which  follows,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  arrive  at  any  cer- 
tainty as  to  its  true  position  in  the  narrative.  As  there 
must,  however,  be  some  a  priori  probability  that  its  place 
was  assigned  with  true  reference  to  the  order  of  events, 
and  as  there  appear  to  be  some  obvious  though  indirect 
references  in  the  discourses  which  immediately  follow 
{ex.  (jr.,  John  viii.  15,  17,  24,  4G),  I  shall  proceed  to  speak 
of  it  here,  feeling  no  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  the  incident 


THE  WOMAN  TAKEN  IN  ADULTERY.  297 

really  happened,  even  if  the  form  in  which  it  is  preserved 
to  lis  is   by  no  means  indisputably  genuine. 

At  the  dose  of  the  day  recorded  in  the  last  chapter, 
Jesus  withdrew  to  the  Mount  of  Olives.  Whether  He 
went  to  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  and  to  the  house  of 
its  unknown  but  friendly  owner,  or  whether — not  having 
where  to  lay  His  head — He  simply  slept,  Eastern  fashion, 
on  the  green  turf  under  those  ancient  olive-trees,  we  can- 
not tell ;  but  it  is  interesting  to  trace  in  Him  once  more 
that  dislike  of  crowded  cities,  that  love  for  the  pure,  sweet, 
fresh  air,  and  for  the  quiet  of  the  lonely  hill,  which  we 
see  in  all  parts  of  His  career  on  earth.  There  was,  indeed, 
in  Him  nothing  of  that  supercilious  sentimentality  and 
morbid  egotism  which  makes  men  shrink  from  all  contact 
with  their  brother-men  ;  nor  can  they  who  would  be  His 
true  servants  belong  to  those  merely  fantastic  philan- 
thropists 

"  Who  sigh  for  wretchedness,  yet  shun  the  wretched, 
Nursing  in  some  delicious  solitude 
Their  dainty  loves  and  slothful  sympathies." 

Coleridge,  Religious  Musings. 

On  the  contrary,  day  after  day,  while  His  day-time  of 
work  continued,  we  find  Him  sacrificing  all  tliat  was 
dearest  and  most  elevating  to  His  soul,  and  in  spite  of 
heat,  and  pressure,  and  conflict,  and  weariness,  calmly 
pursuing  His  labors  of  love  amid  "  the  madding  crowd's 
ignoble  strife."  But  in  the  night-time,  when  men  cannot 
work,  no  call  of  duty  required  His  presence  within  the 
walls  of  Jerusalem;  and  those  who  are  familiar  with  the 
oppressive  foulness  of  ancient  cities  can  best  imagine  the 
relief  which  His  spirit  must  have  felt  when  He  could 
escape  from  the  close  streets  and  thronged  bazaars,  to  cross 
the  ravine,  and  climb  the  green  slope  beyond  it,  and  be 
alone  with  His  Heavenly  Father  uruler  the  starry  night. 

But  when  the  day  dawned  His  duties  lay  once  more 
within  the  city  walls,  and  in  that  part  of  the  city  where, 
almost  alone,  we  hear  of  His  presence — in  the  courts  of 
His  Father's  house.  And  with  the  very  dawn  His  enemies 
contrived  a  fresh  plot  against  Him,  the  circumstanops  of 
which  made  their  malice  even  more  actually  painful  than 
it  was  intentionally  periloua. 


298  THE  LIFE  OF  C1IB.IST. 

It  is  probable  that  the  hilarity  and  abandonment  of  the 
Feast  of  Tabernacles,  which  had  grown  to  be  a  kind  of 
vintage  festival,  would  often  degenerate  into  acts  of  license 
and  inimoiality,  and  these  would  find  more  numerous 
opportunities  in  the  general  disturbance  of  ordinary  life 
caused  by  the  dwelling  of  the  whole  people  in  their  little 
leafy  bootlis.  One  such  act  had  been  detected  during  the 
previous  night,  and  the  guilty  woman  had  been  handed 
over  to  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees. 

Even  had  the  morals  of  the  nation  at  that  time  been  as 
clean  as  in  the  days  when  Moses  ordained  the  fearful  ordeal 
of  the  "water  of  jealousy"  —  even  had  these  rulers  and 
teachers  of  the  nation  been  elevated  as  far  above  their 
contemporaries  in  the  real,  as  in  the  professed,  sanctity  of 
their  lives — the  discovery,  and  the  threatened  punishment, 
of  this  miserable  adulteress  could  hardly  have  failed  to 
move  every  pure  and  noble  mind  to  a  compassion  which 
would  have  mingled  largely  with  the  horror  which  her  sin 
inspired.  They  might,  indeed,  even  on  those  suppositions, 
have  inflicted  the  established  penalty  with  a  sternness  as 
inflexible  as  that  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  in  the  early  days 
of  Salem  or  Providence;  but  the  sternness  of  a  severe  and 
pure-hearted  judge  is  not  a  sternness  which  precludes  all 
pity;  it  is  a  sternness  which  would  not  willingly  inflict  one 
unnecessary  pang — it  is  a  sternness  not  incompatible  with  a 
righteous  tenderness,  but  luholly  incompatible  with  a  mix- 
ture of  meaner  and  slighter  motives,  wholly  incompatible 
with  a  spirit  of  malignant  levity  and  hideous  sport. 

But  the  spirit  which  actuated  these  Scribes  and  Phari- 
sees was  not  by  any  means  the  spirit  of  a  sincere  and  out- 
raged purity.  In  the  decadence  of  national  life,  in  the 
daily  familiarity  with  heathen  degi'adations,  in  the  gradual 
substitution  of  a  Levitical  scrupulosity  for  a  heartfelt  re- 
ligion, the  morals  of  the  nation  had  grown  utterly  corrupt. 
The  ordeal  of  the  "  water  of  jealousy  "  had  long  been 
abolished,  and  the  death  by  stoning  as  a  punishment  for 
adultery  had  long  been  suffered  to  fall  into  disuetude.  Not 
even  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees  —  for  all  their  external 
religiosity — had  any  genuine  horror  of  an  impurity  with 
which  their  own  lives  wei-e  often  stained.  They  saw  in 
the  accident  which  had  put  this  guilty  woman  into  their 
power  nothing  but  a  chance  of  annoying,  entrapping,  pos- 


THE  WOMAN  TAKEN  IN  ADULTERY.  '^M 

sibly  even  endangering  this  Prophet  of  Galilee,  whom  they 
already  regarded  as  "their  deadliest  enemy. 

It  was  a  curious  custom  among  the  Jews  to  consult  dis- 
tinguished Rabbis  in  cases  of  doubt  and  difficulty;  but 
there  was  no  doubt  or  difficulty  here.  It  was  long  since 
the  Mosaic  law  of  death  to  the  adulteress  had  been  de- 
manded or  enforced  ;  and  even  if  this  had  not  been  the 
case,  the  Roman  law  would,  in  all  probability,  have  pre- 
vented such  a  sentence  from  being  put  in  execution.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  civil  and  religious  penalties  of  divorce 
were  open  to  the  injured  husband;  nor  did  the  case  of  this 
woman  differ  from  that  of  any  other  who  had  similarly 
transgressed.  Nor,  again,  even  if  they  had  honestly  and 
sincerely  desired  the  opinion  of  Jesus,  could  there  have 
been  the  slightest  excuse  for  having  the  woman  herself  into 
His  presence,  and  thus  subjecting  her  to  a  moral  torture 
which  would  be  rendered  all  the  more  insupportable  from 
the  close  seclusion  of  women  in  the  East. 

And,  therefore,  to  subject  her  to  the  superfluous  horror 
of  this  odious  publicity — to  drag  her,  fresh  from  the  agony 
of  detection,  into  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Temple — to 
subject  this  unveiled,  dishevelled,  terror-stricken  woman 
to  the  cold  and  sensual  curiosity  of  a  malignant  mob — to 
make  her,  with  total  disregard  to  her  own  sufferings,  the 
mere  passive  instrument  of  their  hatred  against  Jesus:  and 
to  do  all  this — not  under  the  pressure  of  moral  indignation, 
but  in  order  to  gratify  a  calculating  malice — showed  on 
their  parts  a  cold,  hard  cynicism,  a  graceless,  pitiless,  bar- 
barous brutality  of  heart  and  conscience,  which  could  not 
but  prove,  in  every  particular,  revolting  and  hateful  to 
One  who  alone  was  infinitely  tender,  because  He  alone  was 
infinitely  pure. 

And  so  they  dragged  her  to  Him,  and  set  her  in  the 
midst — flagrant  guilt  subjected  to  the  gaze  of  stainless  In- 
nocence, degraded  misery  set  before  the  bar  of  perfect 
Mercy.  And  then,  just  as  though  their  hearts  were  not 
full  of  outrage,  they  glibly  begin,  with  ironical  deference, 
to  set  before  Him  their  case.  *'  Master,  this  woman  was 
seized  in  the  very  act  of  adultery.  Now,  Mosesm  the  Law 
commanded  us  to  stone  sucTi;  but  what  sayest  Tltou  about 
lier?" 

They   thought   that   now   thcv  had   caught   Him    in  a 


300  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dilemma.  They  knew  tlie  divine  trembling  pity  which 
had  loved  where  others  hated,  and  praised  where  others 
scorned,  and  encouraged  wliere  others  crushed;  and  they 
knew  how  that  pity  had  won  for  Him  the  admiration  of 
many,  tlie  passionate  devotion  of  not  a  few.  They  knew 
that  a  publican  was  among  His  chosen,  that  sinners  had 
sat  with  Him  at  the  banquet,  and  harlots  unreproved  had 
bathed  His  feet,  and  listened  to  His  words.  Would  He 
then  acquit  this  woman,  and  so  make  Himself  liable  to  an 
accusation  of  iieresy,  by  placing  Himself  in  open  disaccord 
with  the  sacred  and  fiery  Law?  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
would  He  belie  His  own  compassion,  and  be  ruthless,  and 
condemn?  And,  if  He  did,  would  He  not  at  once  shock 
the  multitude,  who  were  touched  by  His  tenderness,  and 
offend  the  civil  magistrates  by  making  Himself  liable  to  a 
charge  of  sedition?  How  could  He  possibly  get  out  of  the 
difficulty?  Either  alternative — heresy  or  treason,  accusa- 
tion before  the  Sanhedrin  or  delation  to  the  Procurator, 
opposition  to  the  orthodox  or  alienation  from  the  many — 
would  serve  equally  well  their  unscrupulous  intentions. 
And  one  of  these,  they  thought,  must  follow.  What  a 
happy  chance  this  weak,  guilty  woman  had  given  them  ! 

Not  yet.  A  sense  of  all  their  baseness,  their  hardness, 
their  malice,  their  cynical  parade  of  every  feeling  which 
pity  would  temper  and  delicacy  repress,  rushed  over  the 
mind  of  Jesus.  He  blushed  for  his  nation,  for  His  race; 
He  blushed,  not  for  the  degradation  of  the  miserable 
accused,  but  for  the  deeper  guilt  of  her  unblushing  accus- 
ers. Glowing  with  uncontrollable  disgust  that  modes  of 
opposition  so  irredeemable  in  their  meanness  should  be 
put  in  play  against  Him,  and  that  He  should  be  made  the 
involuntary  center  of  such  a  shameful  scene — indignant 
(for  it  cannot  be  irreverent  to  imagine  in  Him  an  intensi- 
fied degree  of  emotions  svhich  even  the  humblest  of  His 
true  followers  would  have  shared)  that  the  sacredness  of 
His  personal  reserve  should  thus  be  shamelessly  violated, 
and  that  those  things  which  belong  to  the  sphere  of  a 
noble  reticence  should  be  thus  cynically  obtruded  on  His 
notice — He  bent  his  face  forward  from  His  seat,  and  as 
though  He  did  not,  or  would  not,  hear  them,  stooped  and 
wrote  with  His  finger  on  the  ground. 

For  any  others  but  such  as  these  it  would  have  been 


THE  WOMAN  TAKEN  IN  ADULTERY.  ,301 

enougli.  Even  if  they  failed  to  see  in  the  action  a  symbol 
of  forgiveness — a  symbol  that  the  memory  of  tilings  thus 
written  in  the  dust  might  be  obliterated  and  forgotten — 
still  any  but  these  could  hardly  have  failed  to  interpret 
the  gesture  into  a  distinct  indication  that  in  such  a  matter 
Jesus  would  not  mix  himself.  But  they  saw  nothing  and 
understood  nothing,  and  stood  there  unabashed,  still  press- 
ing their  brutal  question,  still  holding,  pointing  to,  jeering 
at  the  woman,  with  no  compunction  in  their  cunning 
glances,  and  no  relenting  in  tiieir  steeled  hearts. 

The  scene  could  not  last  any  longer:  and,  therefore,  rais- 
ing Himself  from  His  stooping  attitude,  He,  who  could 
read  their  hearts,  calmly  passed  upon  them  that  sad  judg- 
ment involved  in  the  memorable  words: 

"  Let  him  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  first  cast  the 
stone  at  her." 

It  was  not  any  abrogation  of  the  Mosaic  law;  it  was,  on 
the  contrary,  an  admission  of  its  justice,  and  doubtless  it 
must  have  sunk  heavily  as  a  death-warrant  upon  the 
woman's  heart.  But  it  acted  in  a  manner  wholly  unex- 
pected. The  terrible  law  stood  written;  it  was  not  the 
time,  it  was  not  his  His  will,  to  rescind  it.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  tiiey  themselves,  by  not  acting  on  the  law,  by 
referring  the  whole  question  to  Him  as  though  it  needed  a 
new  solution,  had  practically  confessed  that  the  law  was 
at  present  valid  in  theory  alone,  that  it  had  fallen  into 
disuetude,  and  that  even  with  his  authority  they  had  no 
intention  of  carrying  it  into  action.  Since,  therefore,  the 
whole  proceeding  was  on  their  part  illegal  and  irregular, 
He  transfers  it  by  these  words  from  the  forum  of  law  to 
that  of  conscience.  The  judge  may  sometimes  be  obliged 
to  condemn  the  criminal  brought  before  him  for  sins  of 
which  he  has  himself  been  guilty,  but  the  position  of  the 
self-constituted  accuser  who  eagerly  demands  a  needless 
condemnation  is  very  different.  Herein  to  condemn  her 
would  have  been  in  God's  sight  most  fatally  to  have  con- 
demned themselves;  to  have  been  the  first  to  cast  the  stone 
at  her  would  have  been  to  crush  themselves. 

He  had  but  glanced  at  them  for  a  moment,  but  that 
glance  had  react  their  inmost  souls.  He  liad  but  calmly 
spoken  a  few  simple  words,  but  those  words,  like  the  still 
small    voice   to    Elijah  at  Horeb,  had  been  more  terrible 


303  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

than  wind  or  eavtliqnake.  Tliey  had  fallen  like  a  spark  of 
fire  upon  slumbering  souls,  and  lay  burning  there  till  "  the 
blushing,  shame-faced  spirit"  mutinied  withir.  them. 
The  Scribes  and  Pharisees  stood  silent  and  fearful;  they 
loosed  their  hold  upon  the  woman;  their  insolent  glances, 
so  full  of  guile  and  malice,  fell  guiltily  to  the  ground. 
They  who  had  unjustly  inflicted,  now  justly  felt  tlie  over- 
whelming anguish  of  an  intolerable  shame,  while  over  their 
guilty  consciences  there  rolled,  in  crash  on  crash  of 
thunder,  such  thoughts  as  these  :  "Therefore  thou  art 
inexcusable,  0  man,  whosoever  thou  art  that  judgest;  for 
wherein  thou  judgest  another,  thou  condemnest  thyself  : 
for  thou  that  judgest  doest  the  same  tilings.  But  we  are 
sure  that  the  judgment  of  God  is  according  to  truth  against 
them  which  commit  such  things.  And  tliinkest  thou  this, 
0  man,  that  judgest  them  whicii  do  such  things  and  doest 
the  same,  that  thou  shalt  escape  the  judgment  of  God?  or 
despisest  thou  the  riches  of  His  goodness,  and  forbearance, 
and  long-suffering;  not  knowing  that  the  goodness  of  God 
leadeth  thee  to  repentance  ?  but  after  thy  hardness  and 
impenitent  heart  treasurest  up  to  thyself  wrath  against  the 
day  of  wrath  and  revelation  of  the  righteous  judgment  of 
God,  who  will  render  to  every  man  according  to  his  deeds." 
They  were  "  s«c/i "  as  the  woman  they  had  condemned, 
and  they  dared  not  stay. 

And  so,  with  burning  cheeks  and  cowed  hearts,  from 
the  eldest  to  the  youngest,  one  by  one  gradually,  silently, 
they  slunk  away.  He  would  not  add  to  their  shame  and  con- 
fusion of  face  by  watching  them;  He  had  no  wish  further 
to  reveal  his  knowledge  of  the  impure  secrets  of  their 
hearts;  He  would  not  tempt  them  to  brazen  it  out  before 
Him,  and  to  lie  against  the  testimony  of  their  own  mem- 
ories ;  He  had  stooped  down  once  more,  and  was  writing 
on  the  ground. 

And  when  He  once  more  raised  His  head,  all  the  accusers 
had  melted  away  :  only  the  woman  still  cowered  before 
Him  on  the  Temple-floor.  She,  too,  miglit  have  gone  : 
none  hindered  her,  and  it  might  have  seemed  but  natural 
that  she  should  fly  anywhere  to  escape  her  danger,  and  to 
hide  her  guilt  and  shame.  But  remorse,  and,  it  may  be, 
an  awful  trembling  gratitude,  in  which  hope  struggled 
with    despair,    fixed   her    there   before   her   Judge.     His 


THE  WO  MA  X  TA  KEN  IN  ADUL  TER  T.  303 

look,  the  most  terrible  of  all  to  meet,  because  it  was  the 
only  look  that  fell  on  her  from  a  soul  robed  iu  the  unap- 
proachable majesty  of  a  stainless  innocence,  was  at  the 
same  time  the  most  gentle,  and  the  most  forgiving.  Her 
stay  was  a  sign  of  her  penitence  ;  her  penitence,  let  us 
trust,  a  certain  pledge  of  her  future  forgiveness.  "Two 
things,"  as  St.  Augustine  finely  says,  "  were  here  left  alone 
together — Misery  and  Mercy." 

''Woman,"  He  asked,  "  where  are  those  thine  accusers  ? 
did  no  one  convict  thee  ?" 

*' No  man.  Lord,"  It  was  the  only  answer  which  her 
lips  could  find  power  to  frame;  and  then  she  received  the 
gracious  yet  heart-searching  permission  to  depart  : 

'•'Neither  do  I  convict  thee.  Go;  henceforth  sin  no 
more." 

Were  the  critical  evidence  against  the  genuineness  of 
this  passage  far  more  overwhelming  than  it  is,  it  would  yet 
bear  upon  its  surface  the  strongest  possible  proof  of  its 
own  authentic  truthfulness.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say 
that  the  mixture  which  it  displays  of  tragedy  and  of 
tenderness — the  contrast  which  it  involves  between  low, 
cruel  cunning,  and  exalted  nobility  of  intellect  and  emo- 
tion— transcends  all  power  of  human  imagination  to  have 
invented  it;  while  the  picture  of  a  divine  insight  reading 
the  inmost  secrets  of  the  heart,  and  a  yet  diviner  love, 
which  sees  those  inmost  secrets  with  larger  eyes  than  ours, 
furnish  us  with  a  conception  of  Christ's  power  and  person 
ac  once  too  lofty  and  too  original  to  have  been  founded  on 
anything  but  fact.  No  one  could  have  invented,  for  few 
could  even  appreciate,  the  sovereign  purity  and  ineffable 
charm — the  serene  authority  of  condemnation,  and  of 
pardon — by  which  the  story  is  so  deeply  characterized. 
The  repeated  instances  in  which,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  He  foiled  the  crafty  designs  of  His  enemies, 
and  in  foiling  them  taught  forever  some  eternal  principle 
of  thought  and  action,  are  among  the  most  unique  and 
decisive  proofs  of  His  more  than  human  wisdom;  and  yet 
not  one  of  those  gleams  of  sacred  light  which  were  sti'uck 
from  Him  by  collision  with  the  malice  or  hate  of  man  was 
brighter  or  more  boaufifnl  than  this.  The  very  fact  that 
the  narrative  found  so  little  favor  in  the  early  ceiituries  of 
Church  history — the  fact  that   whole  Churches  regarded 


304  THE  LIFE  OF  CUUIHT. 

the  iiiirrative  <is  dangerous  in  its  tendency — the  fact  that 
eminent  Fathers  of  the  Church  either  ignore  or  speak  of 
it  in  a  seuii-apologetic  tone — in  these  facts  we  see  the 
most  decisive  proof  that  its  real  moral  and  meaning  are 
too  transcendent  to  admit  of  its  having  been  originally 
invented,  or  interpolated  without  adequate  authority 
into  the  sacred  text.  Yet  it  is  strange  that  any  should  have 
failed  to  see  that  in  the  ray  of  mercy  which  thus  streamed 
from  heaven  upon  the  wretched  sinner,  the  sin  assumed 
an  aspect  tenfold  more  heinous,  tenfold  more  repulsive  to 
the  conscience  of  mankind — to  every  conscience  which 
accepts  it  as  a  law  of  life  that  it  should  strive  to  be  holy  as 
God  is  holy,  and  pure  as  He  is  pure. 

However  painful  this  scene  must  have  been  to  the  holy 
and  loving  heart  of  the  Saviour,  it  was  at  least  alleviated 
by  the  sense  of  that  comjmssionate  deliverance — deliver- 
ance, we  may  trust,  for  Eternity,  no  less  than  Time — 
which  it  had  wrought  for  one  guilty  soul.  But  the  scenes 
that  followed  were  a  climax  of  perpetual  misunderstand- 
ings, fluctuating  impressions,  and  bitter  taunts,  which 
caused  the  great  and  joyous  festival  to  end  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  rage,  and  an  attempt  of  the  Jewish  leaders  to 
make  an  end  of  Him — not  by  public  accusation,  but  by 
furious  violence. 

For,  on  the  same  day — the  eighth  day  of  the  feast  if  the 
last  narrative  has  got  displaced,  the  day  after  the  feast  if 
it  belongs  to  the  true  sequence  of  events — Jesus  continued 
tliose  interrupted  discourses  whicli  were  intended  almost 
for  the  last  time  to  set  clearly  before  the  Jewish  nation 
His  divine  claims. 

He  was  seated  at  that  moment  in  the  Treasury — either 
some  special  building  in  the  Temple  so-called,  or  that  part 
of  the  court  of  the  women  which  contained  the  thirteen 
chests  with  trumpet-shaped  openings — called  shopheroth — 
into  which  the  people,  and  especially  the  Pharisees,  used 
to  cast  their  gifts.  In  this  court,  and  therefore  close 
beside  Him,  were  two  gigantic  candelabra,  fifty  cubits  in 
height  and  sumptuously  gilded,  on  the  summit  of  which, 
nightly,  during  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  lamps  were  lit 
which  shed  their  soft  light  overall  the  city.  Round  these 
lamps  the  people,  in  their  joyful  enthusiasm,  and  even  the 
stateliest  priests  and  Pharisees,    joined    in  festal  dances, 


THE  WOMAN  TAKEN  IN  ADULTERY.  305 

while  to  the  soniul  of  flutes  and  other  music,  the  Levites, 
drawn  up  in  array  on  the  fifteen  steps  which  led  up  to  the 
court,  chanted  the  beautiful  Psalms  which  early  received 
the  title  of  •'  Songs  of  Degrees." 

Ill  allusion  to  these  great  lamps,  on  which  some  circum- 
stance of  the  moment  may  have  concentrated  the  attention 
of  the  hearers,  Christ  exclaimed  to  them,  "  I  am  the  Light 
of  the  world  ! "  It  was  His  constant  plan  to  shape  the 
illustrations  of  His  discourses  by  those  external  incidents 
which  would  rouse  the  deepest  attention,  and  fix  the  words 
most  indelibly  on  the  memories  of  His  hearers.  The 
Pharisees  who  heard  His  words  charged  Him  with  idle  self- 
glorification;  but  He  showed  them  that  He  had  His  Father's 
testimony,  and  that  even  were  it  not  so,  the  Light  can  only 
be  seen,  only  be  known,  by  the  evidence  of  its  own  exist- 
ence; without  it,  neither  itself  nor  anything  else  is  visible. 
They  asked  Him,  "  Where  is  Thy  Father?"  He  told 
them,  that,  not  knowing  Him  they  could  not  know  His 
Father;  and  then  He  once  more  sadly  warned  them  that 
His  departure  was  nigh,  and  that  then  they  would  be  un- 
able to  come  to  Him.  Their  only  reply  was  a  taunting  in- 
quiry whether,  by  committing  suicide.  He  meant  to  plunge 
Himself  in  the  darkest  regions  of  the  grave?  Nay,  He 
made  them  understand,  it  was  they,  not  He,  who  were 
from  below — they,  not  He,  who  were  destined,  if  they  per- 
sisted in  unbelief  of  His  eternal  existence,  to  that  dark 
end.  "  Who  art  Thou?"  they  once  more  asked,  in  angry 
and  faithless  perplexity.  ''Altogether  that  which  I  am 
telling  you,"  He  calmly  answered.  They  wanted  Him  to 
announce  Himself  as  the  Messiah,  and  so  become  their 
temporal  deliverei"  but  He  will  only  tell  them  the  far 
deeper,  more  eternal  truths,  that  He  is  the  Light,  and  the 
Life,  and  the  Living  Water,  and  that  He  came  from  the 
Father — as  they,  too,  should  know  when  they  had  lifted 
Him  up  upon  the  cross.  They  were  looking  solely  for  the 
Messiah  of  the  Jews  :  He  would  have  them  know  Him 
as  the  Redeemer  of  the  world,  the  Saviour  of  their  souls. 

As  they  heard  Him  speak,  many,  eveti  of  these  fierce 
enemies,  were  won  over  to  a  belief  in  Him  :  but  it  was  a 
wavering  belief,  a  half  belief,  a  false  belief,  a  belief  mingled 
with  a  thousand  worldly  and  erroneous  fancies,  not  a  belief 
which  had  in    it   any  saving    power,    or   on    which    He 


306  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

could  rely.  Aud  He  put  it  to  an  immediate  test,  whieli 
revealed  its  hollovvness,  and  clianged  it  into  a  mad  luitred. 
He  told  them  that  faithfulness  and  obedience  were  the 
marks  of  true  discipleship,  and  the  requisites  of  true  free- 
dom. Tlie  word  freedom  acted  as  a  touchstone  to  show 
the  spuriousness  of  their  incipient  faith.  They  knew  of 
no  freedom  but  that  political  freedom  which  they  falsely 
asserted;  they  resented  the  promise  of  future  spiritual  free- 
dom in  lieu  of  the  achievement  of  present  national  freedom. 
So  Jesus  showed  them  that  they  were  still  the  slaves  of 
sin,  and  in  name  only,  not  in  reality,  the  children  of  Abra- 
ham, or  the  children  of  God.  They  were  absorbed  with 
pride  when  they  thought  of  the  purity  of  their  ancestral 
origin,  and  the  privilege  of  their  exclusive  monotheism; 
but  He  told  them  tliat  in  very  truth  they  were,  by  spiritual 
affinity,  the  affinity  of  cruelty  and  falsehood,  children  of 
him  who  was  a  liar  and  a  murderer  from  tlie  beginning  — 
children  of  the  devil.  That  home-rebuke  stung  them  to  fury. 
They  repaid  it  by  calling  Jesus  a  Samaritan  and  a  demoniac. 
Our  Lord  gently  put  the  taunt  aside,  and  once  more  held 
out  to  them  the  gracious  promise  that  if  they  will  but 
keep  His  sayings,  they  not  only  shall  not  die  in  their  sins, 
but  shall  not  see  death.  Their  dull,  blind  hearts  could 
not  even  imagine  a  spiritual  meaning  in  His  words.  They 
could  only  charge  Him  with  demoniac  arrogance  and  inso- 
lence in  making  Himself  greater  than  Abraham  and  the 
prophets,  of  whom  tliey  could  only  think  as  dead.  Jesus 
told  them  that  in  prophetic  vision,  perhaps  too  by  sjiirit- 
ual  intuition,  in  that  other  world,  Abraham,  who  was  not 
dead,  but  living,  saw  and  rejoiced  to  see  His  day.  Such 
an  assertion  appeared  to  them  either  senseless  or  blasphe- 
mous. •'  Abraham  has  been  dead  for  seventeen  centuries; 
Thou  art  not  even  fifty  years  old;  how  are  we  to  under- 
stand such  words  as  these?"  Then  very  gently,  but  with 
great  solemnity,  and  with  that  formula  of  asseveration  which 
He  only  used  when  He  announced  His  most  solemn  truths, 
the  Saviour  revealed  to  them  His  eternity.  His  divine  pre- 
existence  before  He  had  entered  the  tabernacle  of  mortal 
flesh: 

"Verily,  verily  I  say  unto  you,  Before  Abraham  came 
into  existence,  I  am." 

Then,  with  a  burst  of  impetuous  fury — one  of   those 


THE  MAN  BORN  BLIND.  307 

paroxysms  of  sudden,  iiucontrollable,  frantic  rage  to  which 
this  people  has  in  all  ages  been  liable  upon  any  collision 
with  its  religious  convictions— they  took  up  stones  to  stone 
Him.  But  the  very  blindness  of  their  rage  made  it 
more  easy  to  elude  them.  His  hour  was  not  yet  come. 
With  perfect  calmness  He  departed  unhurt  out  of  the 
Temple. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE    MAN    BORN    BLIND. 

Either  on  His  way  from  the  Temple,  after  this  at- 
tempted assault,  or  on  the  next  ensuing  Sabbath,  Jesus,  as 
He  passed  by,  saw  a  man  blind  from  his  birth,  who  per- 
haps announced  his  miserable  condition  as  he  sat  begging 
by  the  road-side,  and  at  the  Temple  gate. 

All  the  Jews  were  trained  to  regard  sj)ecial  suffering  as 
the  necessary  and  immedi;i(e  consequence  of  special  sin. 
Perhaps  the  disciples  supposed  that  the  words  of  our  Lord 
to  the  paralytic  whom  He  had  healed  at  the  Pool  of  Beth- 
esda,  as  well  as  to  the  paralytic  at  Capernaum,  might  seem 
to  sanction  such  an  impression.  They  asked,  therefore, 
how  this  man  came  to  be  born  bliad.  Could  it  be  in  con- 
sequence of  the  sins  of  his  parents?  If  not,  was  there  any 
Avay  of  supposing  that  it  could  have  been  for  his  own  ? 
The  supposition  in  the  former  case  seemed  hard;  in  the 
latter,  impossible.      They  were  therefore  perplexed. 

Into  th.e  unprofitable  regions  of  such  barren  speculation 
our  Lord  refused  to  follow  them,  and  He  declined,  as 
always,  the  tendency  to  infer  and  to  sit  in  judgment  ujjon 
the  sins  of  others.  Neither  the  man's  sins,  He  told  them, 
nor  those  of  his  parents,  had  caused  that  life-long  afflic- 
tion; but  now,  by  means  of  it,  the  works  of  God  should  be 
made  manifest.  He,  the  Light  of  the  world,  must  for  a 
short  time  longer  dis-pel  its  darkness.  Then  He  spat  on 
the  ground,  made  clay  with  the  spittle,  and  smearing  it 
on  the  blind  man's  eyes,  bade  him  "go  wash  in  the  pool 
of  Siloam."   Tlie  blind  n)an  went,  washed,  and  was  healed. 

The  saliva  of  one  who  had  not  recently  broken  his  fast 
was  believed  among  the  ancients  to  have  a  healing  efficacy 


308  TUE  UFR  OF  CHRIST. 

in  cases  of  weak  eyes,  and  clay  was  occasionally  used  to 
repress  tumors  on  the  eyelids.  But  that  these  instruments 
in  no  way  detracted  from  the  splendor  of  the  miracle  is 
obvious  ;  and  we  have  no  means  of  deciding  in  this  any 
more  than  in  the  parallel  instances,  why  our  Lord,  who 
sometimes  healed  by  a  word,  preferred  at  other  times  to 
adopt  slow  and  more  elaborate  methods  of  giving  effect  to 
His  supernatural  power.  In  tliis  matter  He  never  revealed 
the  principles  of  action,  which  doubtless  arose  from  His 
inner  knowledge  of  the  circumstances,  and  from  His  in- 
sight into  the  hearts  of  those  on  whom  His  cures  were 
wrought.  Possibly  He  had  acted  with  the  express  view  of 
teaching  more  than  one  eternal  lesson  by  the  incidents 
which  followed. 

At  any  rate,  in  this  instance,  His  mode  of  action  led  to 
serious  results.  For  the  man  had  been  well  known  in 
Jerusalem  as  one  who  had  been  a  blind  beggar  all  his  life, 
and  his  appearance  with  the  use  of  his  eyesight  caused  a 
tumult  of  excitement.  Scarcely  could  those  who  had 
known  him  best  believe  even  his  own  testimony,  that  he 
was  indeed  the  blind  beggar  with  whom  they  had  been  so 
familiar.  They  were  lost  in  amazement,  and  made  him 
repeat  again  and  again  the  story  of  his  cure.  But  that 
story  infused  into  their  astonishment  a  fresh  element  of 
Pharisaic  indignation;  for  this  cure  also  had  been  wrought 
on  a  Sabbath  day.  Tlie  Rabbis  had  forbidden  any  man  to 
smear  even  one  of  his  eyes  with  spittle  on  the  Sabbath,  ex- 
cept in  cases  of  mortal  danger.  Jesus  had  not  only  smeared 
botli  the  man's  eyes,  but  had  actually  mingled  the  saliva 
with  clay!  This,  as  an  act  of  mercy,  was  in  the  deepest 
and  most  inward  accordance  with  the  very  causes  for  which 
the  Sabbath  had  been  ordained,  and  the  very  lessons  of 
which  it  was  meant  to  be  a  perpetual  witness.  But  the 
spirit  of  narrow  literalism  and  slavish  minuteness  and 
quantitative  obedience — the  spirit  that  hoped  to  be  saved 
by  the  algebraical  sum  of  good  and  bad  actions — had  long 
degraded  the  Sabbath  from  the  true  idea  of  its  institution 
into  a  pernicious  superstition.  The  Sabbath  of  Rabbin- 
ism,  with  all  its  petty  servility,  was  in  no  respect  the  Sab- 
bath of  God's  loving  and  holy  law.  Jt  had  degenerated 
into  that  which  St.  Paul  calls  it,  a  nroax^><ov  6roix£Toy, 
or  "beggarly  element"  (Gal.  iv.  9). 


THE  MAN  BORN  BLIND.  309 

And  these  Jews  were   so  imbued  with   this  utter  little- 
ness, tliat  a  unique  minicle  of  mercy  awoke  in  them  less  of 
astonishment   and  gratitude  than  a  horror   kindled  by  a 
neglect  of  their  Sabbatical  superstition.     Accordingly,  in 
all   the  zeal  of  letter-worshiping  religionism,  they  led  off 
the  man  to  the  Pharisees  in  council.     Then  followed  the 
scene    which  St.  John  has  recorded  in  a  manner  so  in- 
imitably graphic  in  his  ninth  chapter.      First  came  the 
repeated  inquiry,   "how  the  thing  had  been  done?"  fol- 
lowed by  the  repeated  assertion  of  some  of  them  that  Jesus 
could  not  be  from  God.  because  He  had  not  observed  the 
Sabbath  ;  and  the  reply  of  others  that  to  press  the  Sab- 
bath-breaking was  to  admit  the  mn-acle,  and  to  admit  the 
miracle  was  to  establish  the  fact  that  He  who  performed 
it  could   not  be  the  criminal  whom  the  others  described. 
Then,  being  completely  at  a  stand-still,  they  asked  the  blind 
man  his  opinion  of  his  deliverer  ;  and   he — not  being  in- 
volved  in  their  vicious  circle  of  reasoning — replied  with 
fearless  promptitude,  "He  is  a  Prophet." 

By  this  time  they  saw  the  kind  of  nature  with  which 
they  had  to  deal,  and  anxious  for  any  loop-hole  by  which 
they  could  deny  or  set  aside  the  miracle,  they  sent  for  the 
mail's  parents.  "  Was  this  their  son  ?  If  they  asserted 
that  he  had  been  born  blind,  how  was  it  that  he  now  saw?" 
Perhaps  they  hoped  to  browbeat  or  to  bribe  these  parents 
into  a  denial  of  their  relationship,  or  an  admission  of  im- 
posture; but  the  parents  also  clung  to  the  plain  truth, 
while,  with  a  certain  Judaic  servility  and  cunning,  they 
refused  to  draw  any  inferences  which  would  lay  them  open 
to  unpleasant  consequences,  "  This  is  certainly  our  son, 
and  he  was  certainly  born  blind  ;  as  to  the  rest,  we  know 
nothing.  Ask  him.  He  is  quite  capable  of  answering  for 
himself," 

Then — one  almost  pities  their  sheer  perplexity — they 
turned  to  the  blind  man  again.  He,  as  well  as  his  parents, 
knew  that  the  Jewish  aiTthorities  had  agreed  to  pronounce 
the  cherem,  or  ban  of  exclusion  from  the  synagogue,  on 
ai\y  one  who  should  venture  to  acknowledge  Jesus  as  the 
Messiah  ;  and  the  Pharisees  probably  hoped  that  he  would 
be  content  to  follow  their  advice,  to  give  glory  to  dod, 
i.e.,  deny  or  ignore  the  miracle,  and  to  accept  their  dictum 
that  Jesus  was  a  sintier. 


310  TIIK  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

But  the  man  was  made  of  sturdier  stuff  than  his  parents. 
He  was  not  to  be  overawed  by  their  authority,  or  knocked 
down  by  their  assertions.  lie  breatiied  quite  freely  in  the 
lialo-atmosphere  of  their  superior  sanctity.  "  We  know," 
the  Pharisees  had  said,  '"that  tliis  man  is  a  sinner." 
"Whether  lie  is  a  sinner,"  the  man  replied,  "1  do  not 
know  ;  one  thing  I  do  kno/v,  that,  being  blind,  now  I  see." 
Then  they  began  again  their  weary  and  futile  cross-examiiui- 
tion.  '-'What  did  He  do  to  thee?  7tow  did  He  open  thine 
eyes?"  But  the  man  had  had  enough  of  this.  "  I  told 
you  once,  and  ye  did  not  attend.  Why  do  ye  M'ish  to  hear 
again?  Is  it  possible  that  ye  too  wish  to  be  His  disciples?" 
Bold  irony  this — to  ask  these  stately,  ruffled,  scrupulous 
Sanhedrists,  whether  he  was  really  to  regard  them  as 
anxious  and  sincere  inquirers  about  the  claims  of  the 
Nazarene  Prophet !  Clearly  here  was  a  man  whose  pre- 
sumptuous honesty  would  neither  be  bullied  into  suppres- 
sion nor  corrupted  into  a  lie.  He  was  quite  impracticable. 
So,  since  authority,  threats,  banishments  had  all  failed, 
'they  broke  into  abuse.  "  Thou  art  His  disciple  :  ive  are 
the  disciples  of  Moses  ;  of  this  man  we  know  nothing." 
"  Strange,"  he  replied,  "that  you  sliould  know  nothing  of 
a  man  who  yet  has  wrought  a  miracle  such  as  not  even 
Moses  ever  wrought ;  and  we  know  that  neither  He  nor 
anyone  else  could  have  done  it,  unless  He  were  from  God." 
What!  shades  of  Hillel  and  of  Shammai  !  was  a  mere  blind 
beggar,  a  natural  ignorant  heretic,  altogether  born  in  sins, 
to  be  teaching  f/^ew?/  Unable  to  control  any  longer  their 
transport  of  indignation,  they  flung  him  out  of  the  hall  and 
out  of  the  synagogue. 

But  Jesus  did  not  neglect  His  first  confessor.  He,  too, 
in  all  probability  had,  either  at  this  or  some  ])revious  time, 
been  placed  under  the  ban  of  lesser  excommunication,  or  ex- 
clusion from  the  synagogue;  for  we  scarcely  ever  again  read 
of  His  re-entering  any  of  those  synagogues  which,  (hiring 
the  early  years  of  His  ministry,  had  been  His  favorite 
places  of  teaching  and  resort.  He  sought  ont  and  found 
the  man,  and  asked  him,  "Dost  thov^  believe  on  tlie  Son 
of  God?"  "Why.  who  is  He,  Loi-d,"  answered  the  man, 
"  That  I  should  believe  on  Him?" 

"Thou  hast  botli  seen  Him,  and  it  is  He  who  talketh 
with  thee." 


THE  MAN  BORX  BLIND.  311 

"  Lord,  I  believe,*'  he  answered  ;  and  he  did  Him  rev- 
erence. 

It  must  have  been  shortly  after  this  time  that  our  Lord 
pointed  the  contrast  between  the  different  effects  of  His 
teaching — thev  who  saw  not,  made  to  see  ;  and  those  who 
saw  made  blind.  The  Pharisees,  ever  restlessly  and  discon- 
tentedly hovering  about  Him,  and  in  their  morbid  egotism 
always  on  the  lookout  for  some  reflection  on  themselves, 
asked  "if  they  too  were  blind."  The  answer  of  Jesus  was, 
that  in  natural  blindness  there  would  have  been  no  guilt, 
but  to  those  who  only  stumbled  in  the  blindness  of  willful 
error  a  claim  to  the  possession  of  sight  was  a  self-condemna- 
tion. 

And  when  the  leaders,  the  teachers,  the  guides  were 
bliud,  how  could  the  people  seey 

The  thought  naturally  led  Him  to  the  nature  of  true 
and  false  te^ichers,  which  He  expanded  and  illustrated  in 
the  beautiful  apologue— half  parable,  half  allegory— of  the 
True  and  the  False  Shepherds.  He  told  them  that  He 
was  the  Good  Shej^herd,  who  laid  down  His  life  for  the 
sheep  ;  while  the  hireling  shepherds,  flying  from  danger, 
betrayed  their  flocks.  He,  too,  was  that  door  of  the 
sheep-fold,  by  which  all  His  true  predecessors  alone  had 
entered,  while  all  the  false— from  the  first  thief  who  had 
climbed  into  God's  fold— had  broken  in  some  other  way. 
Aud  then  He  told  them  that  of  His  own  free  will  He 
would  lav  down  His  life  for  the  sheep,  both  of  this  and  of 
His  othe'r  flocks,  and  that  of  His  own  power  He  would 
take  it  again.  But  all  these  divine  mysteries  were  more 
than  they  could  understand;  and  while  some  declai-ed  that 
they  were  the  nonsense  of  one  who  had  a  devil  and  was 
mad,  others  could  only  plead  that  they  were  not  like  the 
words  of  one  who  had  \  devil,  and  that  a  devil  could  not 
have  opened  the  eves  of  the  blind. 

Thus,  with  but  little  fruit  for  them,  save  the  bitter  fruit 
of  anger  and  hatred,  ended  the  visit  of  Jesus  to  tlie  Feast 
of  Tabernacles.  iVnd  since  His  very  life  was  now  in 
danger.  He  withdrew  once  more  from  Jerusalem  to  Galilee, 
for  one  brief  visit  before  He  bade  to  His  old  home  His  last 
farewell. 


312  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

FAREWELL  TO   GALILEE. 

Immediately  after  the  events  just  recorded,  St.  John 
narrates  another  incident  which  took  phice  two  months 
subsequently,  at  the  winter  Feast  of  Dedication.  In  ac- 
cordance with  the  main  jjuipose  of  his  Gospel,  which  was 
to  narrate  that  work  of  the  Christ  in  Judaea,  and  especially 
in  Jerusalem,  which  the  Synoptists  had  omitted,  he  says 
nothing  of  an  intermediate  and  final  visit  to  rralilee,  or  of 
those  last  Journeys  to  Jerusalem,  respecting  parts  of  which 
the  other  Evangelists  supply  us  with  so  many  details. 
And  yet  that  Jesus  must  have  returned  to  Galilee  is  clear, 
not  only  from  the  other  Evangelists,  but  also  from  the 
nature  of  the  case  and  from  certain  incidental  facts  in  the 
narrative  of  St.  John  himself. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  whole  of  one  great  section  in 
St.  Luke  —  from  ix.  51  to  xviii.  15  —  forms  an  episode  in 
the  Gospel  narrative  of  which  many  incidents  are  narrated 
by  this  Evangelist  alone,  and  in  which  the  few  identifica- 
tions of  time  and  place  all  point  to  one  slow  and  solemn 
progress  from  Galilee  to  Jerusalem  (ix.  51;  xiii.  22;  xvii. 
11;  X.  38).  Now  affer  the  Feast  of  Dedication  our  Lord 
retired  into  Per^ea,  until  He  was  summoned  thence  by  the 
death  of  Lazarus  (John  x.  40,  42  ;  xi.  1-46)  ;  after  the 
resurrection  of  Lazarus,  He  fled  to  Ephraim  (xi.  54);  and 
He  did  not  leave  His  retirement  at  Ephraim  until  he  went 
to  Bethany,  six  days  before  His  final  Passover  (xii.  1). 

This  great  Journey,  therefore,  from  Galilee  to  Jerusa- 
lem, so  rich  in  occasions  which  called  forth  some  of  His 
most  memorable  ixtterances,  must  have  been  either  a 
journey  to  tlie  Feast  of  Tabernacles  or  to  the  Feast  of 
Dedication.  That  it  could  not  have  been  the  former  may 
be  regarded  as  settled,  not  oidy  on  other  grounds,  but  de- 
cisively because  that  was  a  rajjid  and  a  secret  journey,  this 
an  eminently  public  and  leisurely  one. 

Almost  every  inquirer  seems  to  differ  to  a  greater  or  less 
degree  as  to  the  exact  sequence  and  chronology  of  the 
events  which  follow.     Without  entering  into  minute  and 


FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE.  313 

tedious  disquisitions  where  absolute  certainty  is  impossible, 
I  will  narrate  this  period  of  our  Lord's  life  in  the  order 
which,  after  repeated  study  of  the  Gospels,  appears  to  me 
to  be  the  most  probable,  and  in  the  separate  details  of 
which  I  have  found  myself  again  and  again  confirmed  by 
the  conclusions  of  otiier  inde})endent  inquirers.  And  here 
I  will  only  premise  my  conviction: 

1.  That  the  episode  of  St,  Luke  up  to  xviii.  30,  mainly 
refers  to  a  single  journey,  although  unity  of  subject,  or 
other  causes,  may  have  led  the  sacred  writer  to  weave  into 
his  narrative  some  events  or  utterances  which  belong  to  an 
earlier  or  later  epoch. 

2.  That  the  order  of  the  facts  narrated  even  by  St. 
Luke  alone  is  not,  aiul  does  not  in  any  way  claim  to  be, 
strictly  chronological ;  so  that  the  place  of  any  event  in 
the  narrative  by  no  means  necessarily  indicates  its  true 
position  in  the  order  of  time. 

3.  That  this  journey  is  identical  with  that  which  is 
partially  recorded  in  Matt,  xviii.  1;  xx.  16;  Mark  x.  1-3L 

4.  That  (as  seems  obvious  from  internal  evidence)  the 
events  narrated  in  Matt.  xx.  17-28  ;  Mark  x.  32-45  ; 
Luke  xviii.  31-34,  belong  not  to  this  journey,  but  to  the 
last  which  Jesus  ever  took — the  journey  from  Epliraiin  to 
Bethany  and  Jerusalem. 

Assuniing  these  conclusions  to  be  justified — and  I 
believe  that  they  will  commend  themselves  as  at  least 
probable  to  any  wiio  really  study  the  data  of  the  problem 
— we  naturally  look  to  see  if  there  are  any  incidents  which 
can  only  be  refen-ed  to  this  last  residence  of  Jesus  in 
Galilee  after  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles.  The  sojourn  must 
have  been  a  very  brief  one,  and  seems  to  have  had  no 
other  object  than  that  of  preparing  for  the  Mission  of  the 
Seventy,  and  inaugurating  the  final  proclamation  of 
Christ's  kingdom  tliroughout  all  that  part  of  the  Holy 
Land  which  had  as  yet  been  least  familiar  with  His  word 
and  works.  His  instructions  to  the  Seventy  involved  His 
last  farewell  to  Galilee,  and  the  delivery  of  those  instruc- 
tions synchronized,  in  all  probability,  with  His  actual 
departure,  liut  tiiere  are  two  other  incidents  recorded  in 
the  13th  chapter,  which  probably  belong  to  the  same  brief 
sojourn — namely,  the  news  of  a  Galilwan  nuissacre,  and 
tiic  warning  which  He  received  of  Herod's  designs  against 
His  life. 


314  THE  LIFE  OF  CURIST. 

The  home  of  Jesus  during  these  few  last  days  wouhl 
naturally  be  at  Capernaum,  His  own  city  ;  and  while  Ho 
was  tliere  organizing  a  solemn  departure  to  which  there 
would  be  no  return,  there  were  some  who  oame  and 
announced  to  Him  a  recent  instance  of  those  numerous 
disturbances  which  marked  the  Procuratorship  of  Pontius 
Pilate.  Of  the  particular  event  to  which  they  alluded 
nothing  further  is  known ;  and  that  a  few  turbulent 
zealots  should  have  been  cut  down  at  Jerusalem  by  the 
Roman  garrison  was  too  commonplace  an  event  in  these 
troublous  times  to  excite  more  than  a  transient  notice. 
There  were  probably  hundreds  of  such  outbreaks  of  wliich 
Josephus  has  preserved  no  record.  The  inflanunable 
fanaticism  of  the  Jews  at  this  epoch — the  restless  liope 
which  were  constantly  kindling  them  to  fury  against  the 
Eoman  governor,  and  which  made  them  the  ready  dupes 
of  every  false  Messiah — had  necessitated  the  construction 
of  the  Tower  of  Antonia,  which  flung  its  threatening 
shadow  over  the  Temple  itself.  This  tower  communicated 
Avith  the  Temple  by  a  fliglit  of  steps,  so  that  the  Eoman 
legioiuiries  could  rush  down  at  once,  and  suppress  any  of 
tlie  disturbances  which  then,  as  now,  endangered  the 
security  of  Jerusalem  at  the  recurrence  of  every  religious 
feast.  And  of  all  the  Jews,  the  Galilseans,  being  the 
most  passionately  turbulent  and  excitable,  were  the  most 
likely  to  suffer  in  such  collisions.  Indeed  the  main  fact 
whicli  seems  in  this  instance  to  have  struck  the  narrators, 
was  not  so  much  the  actual  massacre  as  the  horrible 
incident  that  the  blood  of  these  murdered  rioters  had 
been  actually  mingled  with  the  red  streams  that  flowed 
from  the  victims  they  had  been  offering  in  sacrifice.  And 
those  who  brought  the  news  to  Christ  did  so,  less  with  any 
desire  to  complain  of  the  sanguinary  boldness  of  the 
Roman  Governor,  than  with  a  curiosity  about  the 
supposed  crimes  which  must  have  brought  upon  these 
slaughtered  worshipers  so  hideous  and  tragical  a  fate. 

The  Book  of  Job  stood  in  Hebrew  literature  as  an 
eternal  witness  against  these  sweeping  deductions  of  a 
confident  uncharity  ;  but  the  spirit  of  Eliphaz,  and 
Zophar,  and  Bildad  still  survived,  and  our  Lord  on  every 
occasion  seized  the  opportunity  of  cliecking  and  reproving 
it.      "■  Do  ye  imagine,"  He  said,   "  that  these    Galileans 


FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE.  315 

were  sinners  above  all  the  Galilseans,  because  they  suffered 
such  things?  I  tell  you,  Nay:  but,  except  ye  repent,  ye 
shall  all  likewise  perish."  And  then  He  reminded  them 
of  another  recent  instance  of  sudden  death,  in  which 
"  the  Tower  in  Siloam  "  had  fallen,  and  crushed  eighteen 
people  who  happened  to  be  under  it ;  and  He  told  them 
that  so  far  from  these  poor  sufferers  having  been  specially 
criminal,  they  should  all,  if  they  did  not  repent,  be 
involved  in  a  similar  destruction.  No  doubt,  the  main 
lesson  which  Clirist  desired  to  teach,  was  that  every  cir- 
cumstance of  life,  and  every  violence  of  man,  was  not  the 
result  either  of  idle  accident  or  direct  retribution,  but 
formed  part  of  one  great  scheme  of  Providence  in  which 
man  is  permitted  to  recognize  the  one  jirevailing  law — viz., 
that  the  so-called  accidents  of  life  happen  alike  to  all,  but 
that  all  siiould  in  due  time  receive  according  to  their 
works.  But  His  words  had  also  a  more  literal  fulfillment ; 
and,  doubtless,  there  may  hafre  been  some  among  His 
hearers  who  lived  to  call  them  to  mind  when  the  Jewish 
race  was  being  miserably  decimated  by  the  sword  of 
Titus,  and  the  last  defenders  of  Jerusalem,  after  deluging 
its  streets  with  blood,  fell  crushed  among  the  flaming 
ruins  of  the  Temple,  which  not  even  their  lives  could 
save. 

The  words  were  very  stern:  but  Christ  did  not  speak  to 
them  in  the  language  of  warning  only;  He  held  out  to 
them  a  gracious  hope.  Once,  and  again,  and  yet  again, 
the  fig-tree  might  be  found  a  barren  cumberer  of  the 
ground,  but  there  was  OxE  to  intercede  for  it  still  ;  and 
even  yet  —  though  now  the  ax  was  uplifted,  nay,  though 
it  was  at  its  backmost  poise — even  yet,  if  at  last  the  tree, 
so  carefully  tended,  should  bring  forth  fruit,  that  ax 
should  be  stayed,  and  its  threatened  stroke  should  not  rush 
through  the  parted  air. 

Short  as  His  stay  at  His  old  home  was  meant  to  be,  His 
enemies  would  gladly  have  shortened  it  still  further.  They 
were  afraid  of,  they  were  weary  of,  the  Lord  of  Life.  Yet 
they  did  not  dare  openly  to  confess  their  sentiments.  The 
Pharisees  came  to  Him  in  sham  solicitude  for  His  safety, 
and  said,  ''  Get  thee  out,  and  depart  hence;  for  Herod  is 
wanting  to  kill  Thee."" 

Had  Jesus  yielded  to  fear — had  He  hastened   His  de- 


31G  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRTST. 

i:)avtnre  in  consequence  of  a  danger,  which  even  if  it  had 
any  existence,  except  in  tiieir  own  imaginations,  had  at 
any  rate  no  immediate  nrgenc}' — doubtless,  tliey  would 
liave  enjoyed  a  secret  triumph  at  His  expense.  But  His 
answer  was  supremely  calm:  "Go,"  He  said,  "and  tell 
this  fox.  Behold,  I  am  casting  out  devils,  and  working 
cures  to-day  and  to-morrow,  and  on  the  third  my  work  is 
done."  And  then  He  adds,  with  the  perfect  confidence 
of  security  mingled  with  the  bitter  irony  of  sori'ow,  "  But 
I  must  go  on  my  course  to-day,  and  to-morrow,  and  the 
day  following;  for  it  cannot  be  that  a  prophet  perish  out 
of  Jerusalem."  And,  perhaps,  at  this  sorrowful  crisis  His 
oppressed  feelings  may  have  found  vent  in  some  pathetic 
cr}'^'  over  the  fallen  sinful  city,  so  red  with  the  blood  of  her 
murdered  messengers,  like  that  which  He  also  uttered 
when  He  wept  over  it  on  the  summit  of  Olivet. 

The  little  plot  of  these  Pharisees  had  entirely  failed. 
Whether  Herod  had  really  entertained  any  vague  intention 
of  seeing  Jesus  and  putting  Him  to  death  as  He  had  put  to 
death  His  kinsman  John,  or  whether  the  whole  rumor  was 
a  pure  invention,  Jesus  regarded  it  with  consummate  indif- 
ference. Whatever  Herod  might  be  designing,  His  own 
intention  was  to  finish  His  brief  stay  in  Galilee  in  His  own 
due  time,  and  not  before.  A  day  or  two  yet  remained  to 
Him  in  which  He  would  continue  to  perform  His  works  of 
mercy  on  all  who  sought  Him  ;  after  that  brief  interval 
the  time  would  have  come  when  He  should  be  I'eceived  up, 
and  He  Avould  turn  His  back  for  the  last  time  on  the 
home  of  His  youth,  and  "set  His  face  steadfastly  to  go  to 
Jerusalem."  Till  then — so  they  must  tell  their  crafty 
patron,  whom  they  themselves  resembled — He  was  under 
an  inviolable  pi'otection,  into  which  neither  their  malice 
nor  his  cruelty  could  intrude. 

And  he  deservedly  bestowed  on  Herod  Antipas  the  sole 
word  of  pure  unmitigated  contempt  which  is  ever  recorded 
to  have  passed  His  lips.  Words  of  burning  anger  He 
sometimes  spoke — words  of  scatching  indignation — words 
of  searching  irony — words  of  playful  humor;  but  some  are 
startled  to  find  Him  using  words  of  sheer  contempt.  Yet 
why  not?  there  can  be  no  noble  soul  which  is  wholly  des- 
titute of  scorn.  The  "  scorn  of  scorn"  must  exist  side 
by  side  with  the  "love   of  love."     Like  anger,  like  the 


FAREWEIJ.  To  GALILEE.  317 

power  of  moral  inclignation,  scorn  has  its  due  place  as  a 
righteous  fuuction  in  the  e(!oiioniy  of  huinaii  emotions, 
and  as  long  as  there  are  thiny.s  of  which  we  rightly  judge 
as  contemptible,  so  long  must  contempt  remain.  And  if 
ever  there  was  a  man  who  richly  deserved  contempt,  it  was 
the  paltry,  perjured  princeling — false  to  his  religion,  false 
to  his  nation,  false  to  his  friends,  false  to  his  brethren, 
false  to  his  wife — to  whoin  Jesus  gave  the  name  of  "this 
fox."  The  inhuman  vices  wiiich  tlie  Cfesars  displayed  on 
the  vast  theater  of  their  absolutisnr — the  lust,  the  cruelty, 
the  autocratic  insolence,  the  ruinous  extravagance — all 
these  were  seen  in  pale  reflex  in  these  little  Neroes  and 
Caligulas  of  the  provinces — these  local  tyrants,  half  Idu- 
maean,  half  Samaritan,  who  aped  the  worst  degradations 
of  the  Imperialism  to  which  they  owed  their  very  existence. 
Judaea  might  well  groan  under  the  odious  and  petty  des- 
potism of  these  hybrid  Ilerodiiuis — jackals  who  fawned 
about  the  feet  of  the  Caesarean  lions.  Respect  for  ''the 
powers  that  be"  can  hardly,  as  has  well  been  said,  involve 
respect  for  all  the  impotences  and  imbecilities. 

Whether  "this  fox"  ever  heard  the  manner  in  which 
our  Lord  had  characterized  him  and  his  dominion  we 
do  not  know  ;  in  lifetime  they  never  met,  until,  on  the 
morning  of  the  crucifixion,  Antipas  vented  upon  Jesus  his 
empty  insults.  But  now  Jesus  calmly  concluded  His  last 
task  in  Galilee.  He  summoned  His  followers  togethei", 
and  out  of  them  chose  seventy  to  prepare  His  way.  Their 
number  was  probably  symbolic,  and  the  mission  of  so  large 
a  number  to  go  before  Him  two  and  two,  and  prepare  for 
His  arrival  in  every  place  which  He  intended  to  visit, 
implies  for  this  last  journey  of  proclamation  an  immense 
publicity.  The  instructions  which  He  gave  them  closely 
resemble  those  which  He  had  issued  to  the  Twelve;  and, 
indeed,  differ  from  them  only  in  being  more  brief,  because 
they  refer  to  a  more  transitory  office;  in  omitting  the  now 
needless  restriction  about  not  visiting  the  Gentiles  and  Sa- 
maritans ;  and  perhaps  in  bestowing  upon  them  less  ample 
miraculous  power.  They  also  breathe  a  sadder  tone, 
inspired  by  the  experience  of  incessant  rejection. 

And  now  the  time  has  come  for  Him  to  set  forth,  and  it 
must  be  in  sorrow.  He  left,  indeed,  some  faithful  hearts 
behind  Him  ;  but  how  few!     Galilee  had  rejected  Him,  as 


318  TIIR  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Jiuljeu  luid  rejected  Iliiii.  On  one  side  of  tlie  lake  which 
He  loved,  a  whole  populace  in  iiuatiimous  deputatiou  had 
besought  llim  to  depart  out  of  their  coasts  ;  on  the  other, 
they  had  vainly  trjetl  to  vex  His  last  days  among  them  by 
a  miserable  conspiracy  to  frigliten  Him  into  flight.  At 
Nazareth,  the  sweet  mountain  village  of  His  childish  days 
— at  Nazareth,  with  all  its  happy  memories  of  his  boyhood 
and  His  mother's  home — they  had  treated  Him  with  such 
violence  and  outrage,  that  He  could  not  visit  it  again. 
And  even  at  Chorazin,  and  Capernaum,  and  Bethsaida — 
on  those  Eden-shores  of  the  silver  lake  —  in  the  green 
delicious  plain,  whose  every  field  He  had  traversed  with 
His  apostles,  performing  deeds  of  mercy,  and  uttering 
words  of  love — even  there  they  loved  the  whited  sepulchers 
of  a  Pharisaic  sanctity,  and  the  shallow  traditions  of  a 
Levitical  ceremonial  better  than  the  light  and  the  life 
which  had  been  offered  them  by  the  Son  of  God.  They 
Avere  feeding  on  ashes  ;  a  deceived  heart  had  turned  them 
aside.  On  many  a  great  city  of  antiquity,  on  Nineveh  and 
Babylon,  on  Tyre  and  Sidon,  on  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 
had  fallen  the  wrath  of  God  ;  yet  even  Nineveh  and  Baby- 
lon would  have  humbled  their  gorgeous  idolatries,  even 
Tyre  and  Sidon  have  turned  from  their  greedy  vanities, 
yea,  even  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  would  have  repented  from 
their  filthy  lusts,  had  they  seen  the  mighty  works  which 
had  been  done  in  these  little  cities  and  villages  of  the  Gali- 
laean  sea.  And,  therefore,  "Woe  unto  thee,  Chorazin! 
woe  unto  thee,  Bethsaida!"  and  unto  thee,  Capernaum, 
"  His  own  city," a  yet  deeper  woe! 

With  such  thoughts  in  His  heart,  and  such  Avords  on  His 
lips.  He  started  forth  from  the  scene  of  His  rejected  min- 
istry ;  and  on  all  this  land,  and  most  of  all  on  that  region 
of  it,  the  woe  has  fallen.  Exquisite  still  in  its  loveliness, 
it  is  now  desolate  and  dangei'ous.  The  birds  still  sing  in 
countless  myriads  ;  the  water  fowl  still  play  on  the  ci'ystal 
mere;  the  brooks  flow  into  it  from  the  neigliboring  hill, 
"  filling  their  bosoms  with  pearl,  and  scattering  their  path 
Avith  emeralds;"  the  aromatic  herbs  are  still  fragrant  when 
the  foot  crushes  them,  and  the  tall  oleanders  fill  the  air 
Avith  their  delicate  perfume  as  of  old  ;  but  the  vineyards 
and  fruit-gardens  have  disappeared  ;  the  fleets  and  fishing- 
boats  cease  to  traverse  the  lake  ;  the  hum  of  men  is  silent ; 


PAREWELL  TO  (JALILES.  $19 

the  streiirn  of  prosperous  cointnerce  has  ceased  to  flow. 
Tlie  very  names  and  sites  of  the  towns  and  cities  are  for- 
gotten ;'  and  where  they  once  shone  bright  and  populous, 
flinging  their  shadows  across  the  sunlit  waters,  there  are 
now  giciy  mounds  where  even  the  ruins  are  too  ruinous  to 
be  distiiiguisliable.  One  solitary  palm-tree  by  one  squalid 
street  of  "iiuts,  degraded  and  friglitful  beyond  any,  even  in 
Palestine,  still  marks  the  site,  and  recalls  the  name  of  the 
one  little  town  where  lived  that  sinful  penitent  woman  who 
once  washed  Christ's  feet  with  her  tears,  and  wiped  them 
with  the  hairs  of  her  head. 

And  the  very  generation  which  rejected  Him  was  doomed 
to  recall  in  bitter  and  fruitless  agony  these  peaceful  happy 
days  of  the  Son  of  Man.  Thirty  years  had  barely  elapsed 
when  the  storm  of  Roman  invasion  burst  furiously  over 
that  smiling  land.  He  wh-o  will  may  read  in  the  Jewish 
War  of  Josephus  the  hideous  details  of  the  slaughter  which 
decimated  the  cities  of  Galilee,  and  wrung  from  the  his- 
torian the  repeated  confession  that  "  it  was  certainly  God 
who  brought  the  Romans  to  punish  the  Galiljeans,"  and 
exposed  the  people  of  city  after  city  "■  to  be  destroyed  by 
their  bloody  enemies."  Immediately  after  the  celebrated 
passage  in  which  he  describes  the  lake  and  plain  of  Gen- 
nesareth  as  "  the  ambition  of  nature,"  follows  a  description 
of  that  terrible  sea-fight  on  these  bright  waters,  in  which 
the  number  of  the  slain,  including  those  killed  in  the  city, 
was  six  thousand  five  hundred.  Hundreds  were  stabbed 
by  the  Romans  or  run  through  with  poles  ;  others  tried  to 
save  their  lives  by  diving,  but  if  once  they  raised  their  heads 
were  slain  by  darts  ;  or  if  they  swam  to  the  Roman  vessels 
liad  their  heads  or  hands  lopped  off  ;  while  others  were 
chased  to  the  land  and  there  massacred.  "  One  might 
then,"  the  historian  continues,  "  see  the  lake  all  bloody, 
and  full  of  dead  bodies,  for  not  one  of  them  escaped. 
And  a  terriUe  stink,  and  a  very  sad  sight  there  was,  on  the 
following  days  over  that  country  ;  for,  as  for  the  shores, 
they  were  full  of  shipwrecks  and  of  dead  bodies  all  swelled; 
and  as  the  dead  bodies  were  inflamed  by  the  sun,  and  putre- 
fied, they  corrupted  the  air,  insomiich  that  the  misery 
toas  not  only  an  object  of  commiseration  to  the  Jews,  hut 
even  to  those  that  hated  them,  and  had  been  the  authors  of 
that  misery."     Of  those  that  died  amid  tiiis   butchery;  of 


320  Tim  LIFE  OF  ('II 11/ ST. 

'those  whom  Vespasian  immediately  afterward  tibandoiied 
to  brutal  and  treaclierons  massacre  between  Tarichea?  and 
Tiberias;  of  those  twelve  hundred  "old  and  useless" 
whom  he  afterward  caused  to  be  slain  in  the  stadium  ; 
of  the  six  thousand  whom  he  sent  to  aid  Nero  in  his 
attempt  to  dig  through  tlie  isthmus  of  Athos  ;  of  the 
thirty  thousand  four  hundred  whom  he  sold  as  slaves — 
may  there  not  have  been  many  who  in  their  agony  and 
exile,  in  their  hour  of  death  and  da,y  of  Judgment,  recalled 
Him  whom  they  had  repudiated,  and  remembei'ed  that  the 
sequel  of  all  those  gracious  words  which  had  proceeded  out 
of  His  lips  had  been  the  "  woe  "  which  their  obduracy 
called  forth. 

There  could  not  but  be  sorrow  in  such  a  parting  from 
such  a  scene.  And  yet  the  divine  spirit  of  Jesus  could 
not  long  be  a  prey  to  consuming  sadness.  Out  of  the 
tenebrous  influences  cast  about  it  from  the  incessant 
opposition  of  unbelief  and  sin,  it  was  ever  struggling  into 
the  purity  and  peace  of  heaven,  from  the  things  seen  and 
temporal  to  the  things  unseen  and  eternal,  from  the 
shadows  of  human  degradation  into  the  sunlight  of  God's 
peace.  "In  that  hour  Jesus  rejoiced  in  spirit,"  and  what 
a  joy ;  what  a  boundless,  absorbing  exultation,  as  He 
thought  no  longer  of  judgment  but  of  compassion  ;  as  He 
turned  not  with  faint  trust  but  perfect  knowledge  to  "the 
larger  hope ; ''  as  He  remembered  how  fJiat  which  was 
hidden  from  the  wise  and  prudent  had  been  revealed  unto 
btibes  ;  as  He  dwelt  upon  the  thought  that  He  was  sent 
not  to  the  rich  and  learned  few,  but  to  the  ignorant  and 
suffering  many  ;  as  He  told  His  disciples,  that  into  Bis, 
yea,  into  His  own  loving  hands,  had  His  Father  committed 
all  power,  and  that  in  Him  they  would  see  and  know  the 
spirit  of  His  Faiher,  and  thereby  might  see  and  know  that 
revelation  for  which  many  kings  and  prophets  had  sighed 
in  vain.  And  then,  that  even  in  the  hour  of  denunciation 
not  one  of  them  might  doubt  His  own  or  His  Father's 
love,  He  uttered,  in  that  same  hour  of  rapt  and  exalted 
ecstasy,  those  tenderest  words  ever  uttered  in  human 
language  as  God's  message  and  invitation  to  His  children 
in  the  suffering  family  of  man,  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye 
that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  1  will  give  you  rest. 
Take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me  :  for  I  am  meek 


INCIDENTS  OF  TIIK  JOURNEY.  32I 

and  lowly  in  heart  ;  and  ye  shall  find  rest  nnto  yonr 
souls." 

So,  over  a  temporary  sorrow  there  trhiinphed  an  infinite 
and  eternal  joy.  Tliere  are  some  who  have  dwelt  too 
exclusively  on  Jesus  as  the  Man  of  Sorrows  ;  have  thought 
of  His  life  as  of  o/ie  unmitigiitod  sulfering,  one  almost  un- 
broIvHii  gloom.  But  in  the  Bible — though  there  alone— 
■we  find  the  perfect  compatibility,  nay,  the  close  union  of 
joy  with  sorrow :  and  myriads  of  Christians  who  have  been 
"troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed  ;  perplexed, 
but  not  in  despair;  persecuted,  but  not  forsaken;  cast 
down,  but  not  destroyed,"  can  understand  how  the  Man 
of  Sorrows,  even  in  the  days  of  His  manhood,  may  have 
lived  a  life  happier,  in  the  true  sense  of  happiness — happier, 
because  purer,  more  sinless,  more  faithful,  more  absorbed 
in  the  joy  of  obedience  to  His  Heavenly  Father — than  has 
been  ever  granted  to  the  sons  of  men.  The  deep  pure 
stream  flows  on  its  way  rejoicing,  even  though  the  forests 
overshadow  it,  and  no  transient  sunshine  flickers  on  its 
waves. 

And  if,  indeed,  true  joy — the  highest  joy — be  "  severe, 
and  chaste  and  solitary,  and  incompatible,"  then  how  con- 
stant, how  inexpressible,  what  a  joy  of  God,  must  have 
been  the  joy  of  the  Man  Christ  Jesus,  who  came  to  give 
to  all  who  love  Him,  hencefortii  and  forever,  a  joy  which 
no  man  taketh  from  them — a  joy  which  the  world  can 
neither  give  nor  take  away. 


CHAPTER    XLHI. 

INCIDENTS    OF    THE    JOURNEY. 

We  are  not  told  the  exact  route  taken  by  Jesus  as  He 
left  Gennesareth  ;  but  as  He  probably  avoided  Nazareth, 
•with  its  deeply  happy  and  deeply  painful  memories.  He 
may  have  crossed  tlie  bridge  at  the  soutliern  extremity  of 
the  Lake,  and  so  got  round  into  the  plain  of  Esdraelon 
either  by  the  valley  of  Bethshean,  or  over  Mount  Tabor 
and  round  Little  Hermon,  passing  Endor  and  Nain  and 
Shunem  on  His  way. 

Crossing  the  plain,  and  passing  Taanach  and  Megiddo, 
He    would    reach    the    range    of    hills   which    form    the 


32-2  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

northern  limit  of  Samariii  ;  and  at  the  foot  of  their  first 
ascent  lies  the  little  town  of  Eu-gaiinim,  or  the 
"Fountain  of  Gardens."  This  would  be  the  first 
Samaritan  village  at  which  He  would  arrive,  and 
hither,  apparently.  He  had  sent  two  messengers  "  to 
make  ready  for  Him.''  Although  the  incident  is 
mentioned  by  St.  Luke  before  the  Mission  of  the  Seventy, 
yet  that  is  probably  due  to  his  subjective  choice  of  order, 
and  we  may  suppose  that  there  were  two  of  the  seventy 
who  were  dispatched  to  prepare  the  way  for  Him  spirit- 
ually as  well  as  in  the  more  ordinary  sense;  unless,  indeed, 
we  adopt  the  conjecture  that  the  messengers  may  have  been 
James  and  John,  who  would  thus  be  likely  to  feel  witii 
special  vividness  the  insult  of  His  rejection.  A.t  any  rate 
tlie  inhabitants — who  to  this  day  are  not  remarkable  for 
their  civility  to  strangers — absolutely  declined  to  receive 
or  admit  Him.  Previously  indeed,  when  He  was  passing 
through  Samaria  on  His  journey  northward.  He  had  found 
Samaritans  not  only  willing  to  receive,  but  anxious  to  de- 
tain His  presence  among  them,  and  eager  to  listen  to  His 
words.  But  now  in  two  respects  the  circumstances  were 
different;  for  now  He  was  professedly  traveling  to  the  city 
which  they  hated  and  the  Temple  which  they  despised, 
and  now  he  was  attended,  not  by  a  few  Apostles,  but  by  a 
great  multitude,  who  were  accompanying  Him  as  their 
acknowledged  Prophet  and  Messiah.  Had  Gerizim  and 
not  Jerusalem  been  the  goal  of  His  journey,  all  might  have 
been  dilfei-ent;  but  now  His  destination  and  His  associates 
inflamed  their  national  animosity  too  much  to  admit  of 
their  supplying  to  the  weary  pilgrims  the  ordinary  civili- 
ties of  life.  And  if  tlie  feelings  of  this  little  frontier  vil- 
lage of  En-gammin  wereso  unmistakably  hostile,  it  became 
clear  that  any  attempt  to  journey  through  the  whole 
breadth  of  Samaria,  and  even  to  pass  under  the  sliadow  of 
their  rival  sanctuary,  would  be  a  dangerous  if  not  a  liope- 
less  task.  Jesus  therefore  altered  the  course  of  His  jour- 
ney, and  turned  once  more  toward  the  Jordan  valley. 
Eejected  by  Galilee,  refused  by  Samaria,  without  a  word 
He  bent  His  steps  toward  Pertea. 

But  the  deep  discouragement  of  this  refusal  to  receive 
Him  was  mingled  in  the  minds  of  James  and  John  with 
hot  indignation.     There  is  nothing  so  trying,  so  absolutely 


INCIDENTS  OF  THE  JOURNEY.  323 

exasperating,  as  a  failure  to  find  food  and  shelter,  and 
common  civility,  after  tlie  fatigue  of  travel,  and  especially 
for  a  large  multitude  to  begin  a  fresh  journey  when  they 
expected  rest.  Full,  therefore,  of  the  Messianic  kingdom, 
which  now  at  last  they  thought  was  on  the  eve  of  being 
mightily  proclaimed,  the  two  brothers  wanted  to  usher  it  in 
with  a  blaze  of  Sinaitic  vengeance,  and  so  to  astonish  and 
restore  the  flagging  spirits  of  followers  who  would  naturally 
be  discouraged  by  so  immediate  and  decided  a  repulse. 
*'  Lord,  wilt  Thou  that  we  command  fire  to  come  down 
from  heaven,  and  consume  them,  even  as  Elias  did  'f 
"What  wonder,"  says  St.  Ambrose,  "that  the  Sons  of 
Thunder  wished  to  flash  lightning?"  And  this  their  fiery 
impetuosity  seemed  to  find  its  justification  not  only  in  the 
precedent  of  Elijah's  conduct,  but  in  the  fact  that  it  had 
been  displayed  in  this  very  country  of  Samaria.  Was  it 
more  necessary  in  personal  defence  of  a  single  prophet  than 
to  vindicate  the  honor  of  the  Messiah  and  His  attendants? 
But  Jesus  turned  and  rebuked  them.  God's  heaven  has 
other  uses  than  for  tlnmder.  "They  did  not  know,"  He 
told  them,  "what  spirit  they  were  of."  They  had  not 
realized  the  difference  which  separated  Sinai  and  Carmel 
from  Calvary  and  Hei-mon.  He  had  come  to  save,  not  to 
destroy;  and  if  any  heaid  His  words  and  believed  not,  He 
judged  them  not.  And  so,  without  a  word  of  anger.  He 
went  to  a  different  village  ;  and  doubtless  St.  John,  who 
by  that  time  did  know  of  what  spirit  he  was,  remembered 
these  words  of  Christ  when  lie  went  with  Peter  into  Sama- 
ria to  confirm  the  recent  converts,  and  to  bestow  upon 
them  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Perhaps  it  may  have  been  on  this  occasion — for  certainly 
no  occasion  would  have  been  more  suitable  than  that  fur- 
nished by  this  eai'ly  and  rude  repulse — that  Jesus,  turning 
to  tlie  great  multitudes  that  accompanied  Him,  delivered 
to  them  that  memorable  discourse  in  which  He  warned 
them  that  all  who  would  be  His  disciples  must  come  to 
Him,  not  expecting  earthly  love  or  acceptance,  but  expect- 
ing alienation  and  opposition,  and  covnting  tltecoat.  They 
must  abandon,  if  need  be,  every  earthly  tie;  they  must  sit 
absolutely  loose  to  the  interests  of  the  world;  they  must 
take  up  the  cross  and  follow  Him.  Strange  language,  of 
Avhich  it  was  only  afterward  that  they  learned  the  full  sig- 
nifipance!     For  a  man  to  begin  a  tower  which  he  could  not 


324  THE  LIFE  OF  (JHlllST. 

finish — for  a  king  to  enter  on  a  war  in  which  nothing  was 
possible  save  disaster  and  defeat — involved  disgrace  and 
indicated  folly  ;  better  not  to  follow  llini  at  all,  unless 
they  followed  llini  prepared  to  forsake  all  that  they  had  on 
earth  ;  prepared  to  sacrifice  the  interests  of  time,  and  to 
live  solely  for  those  of  eternity.  One  who  believed  not, 
would  indeed  suffer  loss  and  harm,  yet  his  lot  was  less 
jiitiable  than  that  of  him  who  became  a  disciple  only  to  be 
a  backslider — who,  facing  both  ways,  cast  like  Lot's  wife  a 
longing  glance  on  all  that  he  ought  to  flee — who  made  the 
attempt,  at  once  impotent  and  disastrous,  to  serve  both 
God  and  Mammon. 

As  both  Galilee  and  Samaria  were  now  closed  to  Him, 
He  could  only  journey  on  His  way  to  Peraea,  down  the  val- 
ley of  Bethshean,  between  the  borders  of  both  provinces. 
There  a  very  touching  incident  occurred.  On  the  out- 
skirts of  one  of  the  villages  a  dull,  harsh,  plaintive  cry 
smote  His  ears,  and  looking  up  he  saw  •'  ten  men  who 
were  lepers,"  united  in  a  community  of  deadly  misery. 
They  were  afar  ofl',  for  they  dai'ed  not  approach,  since 
their  approach  was  pollution,  and  they  were  obliged  to 
warn  away  all  who  would  have  come  near  them  by  the 
heart-rending  cry,  "Tame!  tame!" — "Unclean!  Un- 
clean!" There  was  something  in  that  living  death  of  leprosy 
— recalling  as  it  did  the  most  faithful  images  of  suffering 
and  degradation,  corrupting  as  it  did  the  very  fountains  of 
the  life-blood  of  man,  distorting  his  countenance,  rendering 
loathsome  his  touch,  slowly  encrusting  and  infecting  him 
with  a  plague-spot  of  disease  far  more  horrible  than  deat'.i 
itself — which  always  seems  to  have  thrilled  the  Lord's  heart 
with  a  keen  and  instantaneous  compassion.  And  never 
more  so  than  at  this  moment.  Scarcely  had  He  iieard 
their  piteous  cry  of  "Jesus,  Master,  have  mercy  on  us," 
than  instantly,  without  sufficient  pause  even  to  apjnoach 
them  more  nearly,  He  called  aloud  to  them,  "  Go,  show 
yourselves  unto  the  priests."  They  knew  the  significance  of 
that  command:  they  knew  that  it  bade  them  hurry  off  to 
claim  from  the  priests  the  recognition  of  their  cure,  the 
certificate  of  their  restitution  to  every  rite  and  privilege  of 
human  life.  Already,  at  the  sound  of  that  potent  voice, 
they  felt  a  stream  of  wholesome  life,  of  recovered  energy,  of 
purer  blood,  pulsing  through  their  veins;  and  as  they  went 
they  were  cleansed. 


INCIDENTS  OF  THE  JOURNEY.  325 

He  who  has  not  seen  the  hideous,  degraded  spectacle  of 
the  leper?  clamorously  revealing  their  mutilations,  and 
almost  deuianding  alms,  by  the  road-side  of  some  Eastern 
city,  can  hardly  conceive  how  transcendent  and  immeas- 
urable was  the  boon  which  they  had  thus  received  at  the 
hands  of  Jesus,  One  would  have  thought  that  they  would 
have  suffered  no  obstacle  to  hinder  the  passiotiate  grati- 
tude which  should  have  prompted  them  to  hasten  back  at 
once — to  struggle,  if  need  be,  even  through  fire  and  water, 
if  thereby  they  could  fling  tliemselves  with  tears  of  heart- 
felt acknowledgment  at  their  Saviour's  feet,  to  thank  Him 
for  a  gift  of  something  more  precious  than  life  itself. 
What  absorbing  selfishness,  what  Jewish  infatuation,  what 
sacerdotal  inference,  what  new  and  worse  leprosy  of  shame- 
ful thanklessness  and  superstitious  ignorance,  prevented 
it  ?  We  do  not  know.  We  only  know  that  of  ten  who  were 
healed  but  one  returned,  and  he  was  a  Samaritan.  On  the 
frontiers  of  the  two  countries  had  been  gatliered,  like 
froth  at  the  margin  of  wave  and  sand,  the  misery  of  both  ; 
but  while  the  nine  Jews  were  infamously  tliankless,  the 
one  Samaritan  "  turned  back,  and  with  a  loud  voice  glori- 
fied God,  and  fell  down  on  his  face  at  His  feet,  giving  Him 
thanks."  The  heart  of  Jesus,  familiar  as  He  was  with  all 
ingratitude,  was  yet  moved  by  an  instaiiceof  it  so  flagrant, 
so  all  but  unanimous,  and  so  abnormal.  "  Were  not  the 
ten  cleansed?"  He  asked  in  sorrowful  surprise;  '*  but 
the  nine — where  are  they  ?  Th.ere  are  not  found  that  re- 
turned to  give  glory  to  God  save  this  alien."  "It  is," 
says  Lange,  "  as  if  all  these  benefits  were  falling  into  a 
deep  silent  grave."  The  voice  of  their  misery  had  awaked 
the  instant  echo  of  His  mercy;  but  the  miraculous  utter- 
ance of  His  mercy,  though  it  thrilled  through  their  whole 
physical  being,  woke  no  echo  of  gratitude  in  their  earthly 
and  still  leprous  hearts. 

But,  nevertheless,  this  alien  shall  not  have  returned  in 
vain,  nor  shall  the  rare  virtue — alas,  how  rare  a  virtue  ! — 
of  his  gratitude  go  unrewarded.  Not  his  body  alone,  but 
the  soul — whose  value  was  so  infinitely  more  precious,  just 
as  its  diseases  are  so  infinitely  more  profound — should  be 
healed  by  his  Saviour's  word. 

''Arise  and  go,"  said  Jesus;  *' thy  faith  hath  saved 
thee," 


326  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

TEACHINGS   OF  THE   JOURNEY. 

Even  during  this  last  journey  our  Lord  did  not  escape 
the  taunts,  the  opposition,  the  depreciating  remarks — in 
one  word,  the  Pliarisaism — of  the  Pliarisees  and  those  who 
resembled  them.  Tlie  circumstances  which  irritated  them 
against  Him  were  exactly  the  same  as  they  had  been  through- 
out His  wliole  careei' — exactly  those  in  which  His  example 
was  most  lofty,  and  His  teaching  most  beneficial — namely, 
the  performance  on  the  Sabbath  of  works  of  mercy,  and 
the  association  wiih  publicans  and  sinners. 

One  of  these  sabbatical  disputes  occurred  in  a  syna- 
gogue. Jesus,  as  we  have  already  remarked,  whether  be- 
cause of  the  lesser  excommunication  (the  chereiii),  or  for  any 
other  reason,  seems,  during  this  latter  period  of  His  minis- 
try, to  liave  entered  the  synagogues  but  rarely.  The  exclu- 
sion, however,  from  one  synagogue  or  more  did  not  include  a 
prohibition  to  enter  an//  synagogue;  and  the  subsequent 
conduct  of  this  rosh  hakkeneaeth  seems  to  show  that  he 
had  a  certain  awe  of  Jesus,  mingled  with  his  jealousy  and 
suspicion.  On  this  day  there  sat  among  the  worshipei'S 
a  poor  woman  who,  for  eighucen  long  years,  had  been  bent 
double  by  "a  spirit  of  infirmity,"  and  could  not  lift  her- 
self up.  The  compassionate  heart  of  Jesus  could  not 
brook  the  mute  appeal  of  her  presence.  He  called  her  to 
Him,  and  saying  to  her,  "  \yoman  thou  art  loosed  from 
thine  infirmity,"  laid  His  hands  on  her.  Instantly  she 
experienced  the  miraculous  strengthening  whicli  enabled 
her  to  lift  up  the  long-bowed  and  crooked  frame,  and  in- 
stantly siie  broke  into  utterances  of  gratitude  to  God. 
But  her  strain  of  thanksgiving  was  interrupted  by  the  nar- 
row and  ignorant  indignation  of  the  ruler  of  the  syna- 
gogue. Here,  under  his  very  eyes,  and  without  any  refer- 
ence to  the  "little  brief  authority"  which  gave  him  a 
sense  of  dignity  on  each  recurring  Sabbath,  a  woman — a 
member  of  his  congregation — ha(l  actually  had  the  pre- 
sumption to  be  healed.  Armed  with  his  favorite  "texts," 
and  in  all  the  fussiness  of  oflRcial  hypocrisy,  he  gets  up  and 


TEACHINGS  OF  THE  JOURNEY.  327 

rebukes  the  perfectly  innocent  multitude,  telling  them  it 
was  a  gross  instance  of  Sabbath-breaking  for  them  to  be 
healed  on  tliat  sacred  day,  when  they  might  just  as  well  be 
healed  on  any  of  the  otlier  six  days  of  the  week.  That 
the  offense  consisted  solely  in  the  being  healed  is  clear,  for 
he  certainly  could  not  mean  that,  if  they  had  any  sickness, 
it  was  a  crime  for  them  to  come  to  the  synagogue  at  all  on 
the  Sabbath  day.  Now,  as  the  poor  woman  does  not  seem 
to  have  spoken  one  word  of  entreaty  to  Jesus,  or  even  to 
have  called  His  attention  to  her  case,  the  utterly  senseless 
address  of  this  man  could  only  by  any  possibility  mean 
either  '*  You  sich  people  must  not  come  to  the  synagogue 
at  all  on  the  Sabbath  under  present  circumstances,  for  fear 
you  should  be  led  into  Sabbath-breaking  by  having  a 
miraculous  cure  performed  upon  you  ;"  or  "If  any  one 
wants  to  heal  you  on  a  Sabbath,  you  must  decline."  And 
these  remarks  he  has  neither  the  courage  to  address  to 
Jesus  Himself,  nor  the  candor  to  address  to  the  poor 
healed  woman,  but  preaches  at  them  both  by  rebuking  the 
multitude,  who  had  no  concern  in  the  action  at  all,  beyond 
tlie  fact  tiiat  they  had  been  passive  spectators  of  it ! 

The  whole  range  of  the  Gos])els  does  not  supply  any 
other  instance  of  an  interference  so  illogical,  or  a  stupidity 
so  hopeless;  and  the  indirect,  underhand  way  in  which  he 
gave  vent  to  his  outraged  ignorance  brought  on  him  that 
expression  of  our  Lord's  indignation  which  he  had  not 
dared  openly  to  brave.  "  Hypocrite  I "  was  the  one  crush- 
ing word  with  which  Jesus  addressed  him.  This  silly 
official  had  been  censorious  with  Him  because  He  had 
spoken  a  few  words  to  the  woman,  and  laid  upon  her  a 
healing  hand;  and  with  the  woman  because,  having  been 
bent  double,  she  lifted  herself  up  and  glorified  God  !  It 
would  be  difficult  to  imagine  such  a  pai'alysis  of  the  moral 
sense,  if  we  did  not  daily  see  the  stultifying  effect  pro- 
duced upon  the  intellect  by  the  "deep  slumber  of  a 
decided  opinion,"  especially  when  the  opinion  itself  rests 
upon  nothing  better  than  a  meaningless  tradition.  Now 
Jesus  constantly  varied  the  arguments  and  appeals  by 
which  He  endeavoied  to  show  the  Pharisees  of  His  nation 
that  their  views  about  the  Sabbath  only  degraded  it  from 
a  divine  benefit  into  a  revolting  bondage.  To  the  Rabbis 
of  Jerusalem  He  justified  Himself  by  an  appeal  to  His  own 


328  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

character  and  authority,  as  supported  by  the  triple  testi- 
mony of  John  tlie  Iia])tist,  of  the  Scriptures,  and  of  the 
Father  Himself,  who  bore  witness  to  Him  by  the  authority 
which  lie  had  given  Him.  To  the  Pharisees  of  Galilee 
He  had  quoted  the  direct  precedents  of  Scripture,  or  had 
addressed  an  appeal,  founded  on  their  own  common  sense 
and  power  of  insight  into  the  eternal  principles  of  things. 
But  the  duller  and  less  practiced  intellects  of  these 
Perffians  might  not  have  understood  either  the  essential  love 
and  liberty  implied  by  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath,  or 
the  paramount  authority  of  Jesus  as  Lord  of  the  Sabbath. 
It  could  not  rise  above  the  cogency  of  the  argwnentum  ad 
hominem.  It  was  only  capable  of  a  conviction  based  on 
their  own  common  practices  and  received  limitations. 
There  was  not  one  of  them  who  did  not  consider  himself 
justified  in  unloosing  and  leading  to  the  water  his  ox  or  his 
ass  on  the  Sabbath,  although  that  involved  far  more  labor 
than  either  laying  the  hand  on  a  sick  woman,  or  even  being 
healed  by  a  miraculous  word!  If  their  Sabbath  rules  gave 
way  to  the  needs  of  ox  or  ass,  ought  they  not  to  give  way 
to  the  cruel  necessities  of  a  daughter  of  Abraham  ?  If 
fhej/  might  do  much  more  labor  on  the  Sabbath  to  abbre- 
viate a  few  honrs'  thirst,  might  not  He  do  much  less  to 
terminate  a  Satanically  cruel  bondage  which  had  lasted, 
lo!  these  eighteen  yeai's?  At  reasonings  so  nnanswerable, 
no  wonder  that  His  adversaries  were  ashamed,  and  that  the 
simi^lei',  more  unsophisticated  people  rejoiced  at  all  the 
glorious  acts  of  mercy  which  He  wiought  on  their  behalf. 
Again  and  again  was  our  Lord  thus  obliged  to  redeem 
this  great  primeval  institution  of  God's  love  from  these 
narrow,  formal,  pernicious  restrictions  of  an  otiose  and 
nnintelligent  tradition.  But  it  is  evident  that  He 
attached  as  much  importance  to  the  noble  and  loving 
freedom  of  the  day  of  rest  as  they  did  to  the  stupefying  in- 
action to  which  they  had  reduced  the  normal  character  of 
its  observance.  Their  absorbing  attachment  to  it,  the 
frenzy  which  filled  them  when  He  set  at  nought  their  Sab- 
batarian uncharities,  rose  from  many  circumstances.  They 
were  wedded  to  the  religious  system  which  had  long  pre- 
vailed among  them,  because  it  is  easy  to  be  a  slave  to  the 
letter,  and  difficult  to  enter  into  the  spirit ;  easy  to  obey  a 
numhor  of  outward  rules,  difficult  to  enter  intelligently 


TEACHINGS  OF  THE  JOURNEY.  329 

and  self-sacrificingly  into  the  will  of  God;  easy  to  entangle 
the  soul  in  a  network  of  petty  observances,  difficult  to 
yield  the  obedience  of  an  enlightened  heart  ;  easy  to  be 
haughtily  exclusive,  difficult  to  be  humbly  spiritual ;  easy 
to  be  an  ascetic  or  a  formalist,  difficult  to  be  pure,  and 
loving,  and  wise,  and  free;  easy  to  be  a  Pliarisee,  difficult 
to  be  a  disciple;  very  easy  to  embrace  a  self-satisfying  and 
sanctimonious  system  of  rabbinical  observances,  very  diffi- 
cult to  love  God  with  all  the  heart,  and  all  the  might,  and 
all  the  soul,  and  all  the  strength.  In  laying  His  ax  at  the 
root  of  their  proud  and  ignorant  Sabbatarianism,  He  was 
laying  His  ax  at  the  root  of  all  that  "  miserable  microlo^y" 
which  they  had  been  accustomed  to  take  for  their  religi- 
ous life.  Is  the  spirit  of  the  sects  so  free  in  these  days 
from  Pharisaic  taint  as  not  to  iieed  such  lessons?  Will 
not  these  veiT  words  which  I  have  written — although  they 
are  but  an  expansion  of  the  lessons  which  Jesus  incessantly 
taught — yet  give  offence  to  some  who  read  them? 

One  more  such  incident  is  recorded — the  sixth  embit- 
tered controversy  of  the  kind  in  which  they  had  involved 
our  Lord.  Nothing  but  Sabbatarianism  which  had  de- 
generated into  monomania  could  account  for  their  so  fre- 
quently courting  a  controversy  whicli  always  ended  in  their 
total  discomfiture.  On  a  certain  Sabbath,  which  was  the 
principal  day  for  Jewish  entertainments,  Jesus  was  invited 
to  the  house  of  one  who,  as  he  is  called  a  ruler  of  the 
Pharisees,  must  have  been  a  man  in  high  position,  and 
perhaps  even  a  member  of  tbe  Sanhedrin.  The  invitation 
was  one  of  those  to  which  He  was  so  often  subjected,  not 
respectful  or  generous,  but  due  either  to  idle  curiosity  or 
downright  malice.  Tliroughout  the  meal  He  was  carefully 
watched  by  hostile  scrutiny.  The  Pliarisees,  as  has  been 
well  said,  "performed  the  duty  of  religious  espionage  with 
exemplary  diligence."  Among  the  unbidden  guests  who, 
Oriental  fashion,  stood  about  the  room  and  looked  on,  as 
they  do  to  this  day  during  the  continuance  of  a  meal,  was 
a  man  afflicted  with  the  dropsy.  The  prominent  position 
in  which  he  stood,  combined  with  the  keen  w^atchfulness 
of  the  Pliarisees,  seems  to  show  tliat  he  had  been  placed 
there  designedly,  eitlier  to  test  Christ's  willingness  to 
respect  their  Sabbatli  prejudices,  or  to  defeat  His  miracu- 
lous power  by  the  failure  to  cure  a  disease  more  inveterate, 


330  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

aud  less  amenable  to  curative  measures,  than  any  other. 
If  so,  tliis  was  another  of  those  miserable  cases  in  which 
these  unfeeling  teachers  of  tlie  people  were  ready  to  make 
the  most  heart-rending  shame  or  the  deepest  misery  a 
mere  tool  to  be  used  or  thrown  aside,  as  cliance  might 
serve,  in  their  dealings  with  Jesus.  But  this  time  Jesus 
antici[)ated,  and  went  to  meet  lialf  way  the  subtle 
nuichinations  of  this  learned  aud  distinguished  company. 
He  asked  them  the  very  simple  question: 

"Is  it  lawful  to  heal  on  the  Sabbath  day?"  They 
would  not  say  "  Yes  ;"  but,  on  the  other  liand,  they  dared 
not  say  "No!"  Had  it  been  uidawful,  it  was  tlieir  posi- 
tive function  and  duty  to  say  so  then  and  there,  and  with- 
out any  subterfuge  to  deprive  the  poor  sufferer,  so  far  as  in 
them  lay,  of  the  miraculous  mercy  which  was  prepared  for 
him,  and  to  brave  the  consequences.  If  they  dared  not 
say  so — either  for  fear  of  the  people,  or  for  fear  of  instant 
refutation,  or  because  tlie  spell  of  Clirist's  awful  ascend- 
ancy was  upon  them,  or  out  of  a  mere  splenetic  pride,  or — 
to  imagine  better  motives — because  in  their  inmost  hearts, 
if  any  spot  remained  in  them  uncrusted  by  idle  and  irre- 
ligious prejudices,  they  felt  tliat  it  was  lawful,  and  more 
than  lawful,  eight — then,  by  their  own  judgment,  they 
left  Jesus  free  to  heal  without  the  possibility  of  censure. 
Their  silence,  therefore,  was,  even  on  their  own  showing, 
and  on  their  own  principles,  His  entire  justification.  His 
mere  simple  question,  and  their  inability  to  answer  it,  was 
an  absolute  decision  of  tlie  controversy  in  His  favor.  He 
tiierefore  took  the  man,  healed  him,  and  let  him  go. 

And  then  He  appealed,  as  before,  to  their  own  practice. 
"  Which  of  you  shall  have  a  son,  or  (even)  an  ox,  fallen 
into  a  pit,  and  will  not  straightway  pull  him  out  on  the 
Sabbath  day?"  They  knew  that  they  could  only  admit 
the  fact,  and  then  the  argument  a  fortiori  was  irresistible; 
a  man  was  more  important  than  a  beast ;  the  extrication 
of  a  beast  involved  more  labor  by  far  than  the  healing  of 
a  man.  Their  base  little  plot  only  ended  in  the  con- 
strained and  awkward  silence  of  a  comjdete  refutation 
which  they  were  too  ungenerous  to  acknowledge. 

Jesus  deigned  no  further  to  dwell  on  the  subject  which  to 
the  mind  of  every  candid  listener  had  been  set  at  rest  for- 
ever, and  He  turned  their  thoughts  to  other  lessons,     Tlie 


TEACHINGS  OF  THE  JOURNEY.  331 

dropsy  of  their  inflated  self-satisfaction  was  a  disease 
far  more  difficult  to  heal  than  that  of  the  sufferer  whom 
they  had  used  to  entrap  Him.  Scarcely  was  the  feast  ready 
when  there  arose  among  the  distinguished  company  one  of 
those  unseemly  struggles  for  precedence  which — common, 
nay,  almost  universal  as  they  are — show  the  tendencies  of 
human  nature  on  its  weakest  and  most  contemptible  side. 
And  nothing  more  clearly  showed  the  essential  hollovvness 
of  Pharisaic  religion  than  its  intense  pride  and  self-exalta- 
tion. Let  one  anecdote  suffice.  The  King  Jannaeus  had. 
on  one  occasion  invited  several  Persian  Satraps,  and  among 
the  guests  asked  to  meet  them  was  the  Rabbi  Simeon  Ben 
Shetach.  The  latter  on  entering  seated  himself  at  table 
between  the  King  and  the  Queen.  Being  asked  the  reason 
for  such  a  presumptuous  intrusion,  he  replied  that  it  was 
written  in  the  Book  of  Jesus  Ben  Sirach,  "Exalt  wisdom 
and  she  shalt  exalt  thee,  and  siiall  make  thee  sit  among 
princes." 

The  Jews  at  this  period  had  adopted  the  system  of  tric- 
linia from  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  the  "chief  seat" 
{npooTHXt6ia)  was  the  middle  seat  in  the  tricUninm. 
Observing  the  anxiety  of  each  guest  to  secure  this  place 
for  himself,  our  Lord  laid  down  a  wiser  and  better  princi- 
ple of  social  courtesy,  whicli  involved  the  far  deeper  lesson 
of  spiritual  humility.  Just  as  in  earthly  society  the  push- 
ing, intrusive,  self-conceited  man  must  be  prepared  for 
many  a  strong  rebuff,  and  will  find  himself  often  com- 
pelled to  give  place  to  modest  merit,  so  in  the  eternal 
world,  "  whosoever  exalteth  himself  shall  be  abased,  and 
he  that  humbleth  himself  shall  be  exalted."  Pride,  exclu- 
siveness,  self-glorification,  shall  have  no  place  in  the  king- 
dom of  God.  Humility  is  the  only  passport  which  can 
obtain  for  us  an  entrance  there. 

"  Humble  we  must  be,  if  to  heaven  we  go, 
High  is  the  roof  there,  but  the  gate  is  low." 

And  He  proceeded  to  teach  them  another  lesson,  ad- 
dressed to  some  obvious  foible  in  the  character  of  His  host. 
Luxury,  ostentation,  the  hope  of  a  return,  are  not  true 
principles  of  hospitality.  A  richer  recompense  awaits  the 
kindness  bestowed  upon  the  poor  than  the  adulatory  enter- 
tainment of  the  friendly  and  the  rich.     In  receiving   the 


332  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

friends  aiul  relatives  do  not  forget  the  lielples?  and  the 
afflicted.  Interested  beneficence  is  nothing  in  the  world 
but  a  deceitful  selfishness.  It  may  be  that  thou  vvouldst 
have  won  a  more  eternal  blessing  if  that  dropsical  man  had 
been  invited  to  remain — if  those  poor  lookers  on  were 
counted  among  the  number  of  the  guests. 

At  this  point  one  of    the    guests,    perhaps   because    he 
tliought  that  these  lessons  were  disagreeable  and    severe, 
interposed  a  remark  which,  under  tlie  circumstances,  rose 
very  little  above  the  level  of  a  vapid  and  misleading  plati- 
tude.    He  poured  upon  the  troubled  watersasort  of  general 
impersonal  aphorism.     Instead  of  profiting  by  these  divine 
lessons,  he   seemed  inclined  to  rest  content  with  "an  in- 
dolent remission  of  the    matler  into  distant  futurity,"  as 
though  he  were  quite  sure  of  tliat  blessedness,  of  which  he 
seems  to  have  a  very  poor  and    material  conception.     But 
our  Lord  turned  his  idle  poor  I'emark  into  a  fresh  occasion  for 
most  memorable  teaching.  He  told  them  a  parable  to  show 
that    "to  eat   bread  in  the    kingdom    of  heaven"  might 
involve  conditions  which  those  who  felt  so   very  sure  of 
doing  it  would  not  be  willing  to  accept.     He  told  them  of 
a  king  who  had  sent  out  many  invitations  to  a  great  banquet, 
but  who,  when  the  time  came,  was  met  by  general  refusals. 
One  had  his  estate  to  manage,  and  was  positively  obliged  to 
go  and  see  a  new  addition  to  it.   Another  was  deep  in  buying 
and  selling,  and  all  the  business  it  entailed.     A  third  was  so 
lapped  in  contented  domesticity  that  his  coming   was  out 
of  the  question.     Then  the  king,  rejecting  in    his  anger 
these  disrespectful  and  dilatory  guests,  bade  his  slaves  go 
at  once  to  the  broad  and  narrow  streets,  and   bring  in  the 
poor  and  maimed,  and  lame  and  blind;  and  when  that  was 
done,  and  there  still  was  room,  he  sent  them  to  urge  in 
even  the  houseless  wanderers  by  the  hedges  and  the  roads. 
The  application  to  all  present   was  obvious.      The  worldly 
heart — whether  absorbed  in  the  management  of  property, 
or  the  acquisition  of  riches,   or  the    mere    sensualisms  of 
contented  comfort — was  incompatible   with  any  desire  for 
the  true  banquet  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven.     The  Gentile 
and  the  Phariath,  the  harlot  and  the  publican,  the  laborer 
of  the  road-side  and  the  beggar  of  the  streets,  these  might 
be  there  in   greater  multitudes  than  the  Scribe  with    his 
boasted  learning,  and  the  Pharisee  with  his  broad  phylac- 


TEACHINGS  Oy  THE  JOTIIINEY.  333 

tery.  "' For  I  say  uuto  you,"  He  added  in  His  own  per- 
son, to  point  the  moral  more  immediately  to  their  own 
hearts,  "  that  none  of  those  men  who  were  called  shall 
taste  of  my  supper."  It  was  the  lesson  which  He  so  often 
pointed.  ''  To  be  invited  is  one  thing,  to  accept  the  invi- 
tation is  another.  Many  are  called,  but  few  are  chosen. 
Many — as  the  heathen  proverb  said — '  Many  bear  the  nai-- 
thex,  but  few  feel  the  inspiring  god'  noXXoi  rot  vapfii]Hoq>6poi 
itavftoi  de  re  /Sdnxot." 

Teachings  like  tiiese  ran  throughout  this  entire  period 
of  the  Lord's  ministry.  The  parable  just'recorded  was,  in 
its  far  reaching  and  many-sided  significance,  a  reproof  not 
only  to  the  close  exclusiveness  of  the  Pharisees,  but  also  to 
their  worldliuess  and  avarice.  On  anotiier  occasion,  when 
our  Lord  was  mainly  teaching  His  own  disciples.  He  told 
them  the  parable  of  the  Unjust  Steward,  to  show  them  the 
necessity  of  care  and  faithfulness,  of  prudence  and  wisdom, 
in  so  managing  the  affairs  and  interests  and  possessions  of 
this  life  as  not  to  lose  hereafter  their  heritage  of  tiie 
eternal  riches.  It  was  impossible — su(ih  was  tlie  recur- 
rent burden  of  so  many  discourses — to  be  at  once  worldly 
and  spiritual  :  to  be  at  once  the  slave  of  God  and  the  slave 
of  Mammon.  With  the  supreme  and  daring  paradox  which 
impressed  His  divine  teaching  on  the  heart  and  memory  of 
the  world,  He  urged  them  to  the  foresight  of  a  spiritual 
wisdom  by  an  example  drawn  from  the  foresight  of  a 
criminal  cleverness. 

Although  Ciirist  had  been  speaking  in  the  first  instance 
to  the  Apostles,  some  of  the  Pharisees  seem  to  have  been 
present  and  to  have  heard  Him  ;  and  it  is  a  characteristic 
fact  that  this  teaching,  more  than  any  other,  seems  to  have 
kindled  tiieir  most  undisguised  derision.  They  began  to 
treat  Him  with  the  most  open  and  insolent  disdain.  And 
why?  Because  they  were  Piiarisees,  and  yet  were  fond  of 
money.  Had  not  they,  then,  in  their  own  persons,  suc- 
cessfully solved  the  problem  of  "  making  the  best  of  both 
worlds?"  Who  could  doubt  thei)'  perfect  safety  for  the 
future?  nay,  the  absolute  certainty  that  thoy  would  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  "chief  seats,"  the  most  distinguished  and 
conspicuous  places  in  the  world  to  come?  Were  they  not, 
then,  standing  witnesses  of  the  absurdity  of  the  supposi- 
tion that  the  love  of  money  wa.-'  incompatible  witii  the 
]ove  of  God  ? 


334  "i'ilE  LIVE  OF  GltlUSf. 

Our  Lord's  answer  to  them  is  very  much  compressed  by 
St.  Luke,  but  consisted,  first,  in  showiiig  them  that  respect- 
ability of  life  is  one  thing,  and  sincerity  of  heart  quite 
another.  Into  the  new  kingdom,  for  which  John  had  pre- 
pared the  way,  the  world's  lowest  were  pressing  in,  and 
were  being  accepted  before  them  ;  the  Gospel  was  being 
rejected  by  them,  though  it  was  not  the  destruction,  but 
the  highest  fulfillment  of  the  Law,  Nay,  such  seems  to  be 
the  meaning  of  the  apparently  disconnected  verse  which 
follows — even  to  the  Law  itself,  of  which  not  one  tittle 
should  fail,  tiiey  were  faithless,  for  they  could  connive  at  the 
violation  of  its  most  distinct  provisions.  In  this  apparently 
isolated  remark  He  alluded,  in  all  probability,  to  their 
relations  to  Herod  Antipas,  whom  they  were  content  to 
acknowledge  and  to  flatter,  and  to  whom  not  one  of  them 
had  dared  to  use  the  brave  language  of  reproach  which  had 
been  used  by  John  the  Baptist,  although,  by  the  clearest 
decisions  of  the  Law  which  they  professed  to  venerate,  his 
divorce  from  the  daughter  of  Aretas  was  adulterous,  and 
his  marriage  with  Herodias  was  doubly  adulterous,  and 
worse. 

But  to  make  the  immediate  truth  which  He  had  been 
explaining  yet  more  clear  to  them.  He  told  tiiem  the  para- 
ble of  the  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,  Like  all  of  our  Lord's 
parables,  it  is  full  of  meaning,  and  admits  of  more  than 
one  application  ;  but  at  least  they  could  not  miss  the  one 
plain  and  obvious  application,  that  the  decision  of  the  next 
Avorld  will  often  reverse  the  estimation  wherein  men  are 
held  in  this  ;  that  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons ;  that 
the  heart  must  make  its  choice  between  the  "good  things" 
of  this  life  and  those  which  the  externals  of  this  life  do  not 
affect.  And  what  may  be  called  the  epilogue  of  this  para- 
ble contains  a  lesson  more  solemn  still — namely,  that  the 
means  of  grace  which  God's  mercy  accords  to  every  living 
soul  are  ample  for  its  enlightenment  and  deliverance  ;  that 
if  these  be  neglected,  no  miracle  will  be  wrought  to  startle 
the  absorbed  soul  from  its  worldly  interests  ;  that  ''if  they 
hear  not  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  neither  will  they  be  per- 
suaded though  one  rose  from  the  dead,"  Auditu  fideli 
salvamur,  says  Bengel,  7iO)i  apparitionihus — **We  are 
saved  by  faithful  hearing,  not  by  ghosts," 

This  constant  reference   to  life  as  a  time  of  probation, 


TEACmms  OP  THE  JOURNEr.  335 

and  to  the  Great  Jiulgmeiit,  when  the  one  word   "■  Come," 
or ''Depart/' as  uttered   by   the  Jiul.i^e,  should   decide  all 
controversies   and  all  questions  forever,  naturally  turned 
the  thoughts  of  many   listeners  to  these  solemn  subjects. 
But  there  is  a  great  and  constant  tendency  in   the  minds 
of  us  all  to  refer  such  questions  to  the  case  of  others  rather 
than  our  own — to  make  tl)em  questions  rather  of  specula- 
tive curiosity  than  of  practical   import.      And  such  tend- 
encies,  which  rob    moral   teaching  of  all   its  wholesome- 
ness,    and     turn    its    warnings    into    mere    excuses    for 
uncharity,  were  always  checked   and   discouraged  by  our 
Lord.     A   special  opportunity  was  given  Him  for  this  on 
one   occasion   during  those   days  in  v/hich   He  was  going 
"through  the  cities  and  villages,  teaching,  and  journeying 
toward  Jerusalem."      He  had — not,  perhaps,  for  the  first 
time — been   speaking   of    the    small    beginnings    and   the 
vast   growth    of    the    kingdom    of    heaven    alike   in    the 
soul    and    in    the    world  ;    and    one   of   His   listeners,    in 
the   spirit   of    unwise    though    not    unnatural    curiosity, 
asked    Him,     "Lord,    are    there    few    that    be   saved?" 
Whether   the  question    was   dictated  by  secure  self-satis- 
faction, or  by  despondent  pity,    we    cannot  tell ;  but   in 
either  case  our  Lord's  answer  involved  a  disapproval  of  the 
inquiry,  and  a  statement  of   the  wholly  different  manner 
in  which  such  questions  should  bo  approached.     "Few" 
or  "many"  are  relative  terms.     Waste  not  the  precious 
opportunities  of    life    in    idle    wonderment,    but    strive. 
Through   that  narrow  gate,  none — not   were  they  a  thou- 
sand times  the  seed  of  Abraham— can  enter  without  earnest 
effort.    And  since  the  efforts,  the  willful  efforts,  the  erring 
efforts  of  many  fail — since  the  day  will  come  when  the  door 
shall  be  shut,  and  it  shall  be  forever  too  late  to  enter  there 
— since  no  impassioned  appeal  shall  then  admit,  no  claim 
of  olden  knowledge  shall  then  be  recognized — since  some 
of  those  who  in  their  spiritual  pride  thought  that  they  best 
knew  the  Lord,  shall  hear  the  awful  repudiation,  "  I  know 
you  not" — strive  ye  to  be  of  those  that  enter  in.    For  many 
shall  enter  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  yet  thou, 
0  son  of  Abraham,  mayest  be  excluded.    And  behold,  once 
more — it  may  well   sound  strange  to  thee,  yet  so  it  is — 
"  there  are  last  which  shall  be  first,  and   there  are  first 
which  shall  be  last." 


330  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Thus  each  vapid  interruption,  each  scornful  criticism, 
each  erroneous  question,  eacli  sad  or  happy  incident,  was 
made  by  Jesus,  throughout  this  journey,  an  Oj)portunity 
for  teaching  to  His  hearers,  and  tiirougli  them  Lo  all  the 
world,  the  tilings  that  belonged  unto  their  peace.  And  He 
did  so  once  more,  when  "a  certain  lawyer"  stood  up 
tempting  Him,  and  asked — not  to  obtain  guidance,  but  to 
find  subject  for  objection — the  momentous  question, 
"  What  must  I  do  to  obtain  eternal  life?''  Jesus,  seeing 
thrbugli  the  evil  motive  of  his  question,  simply  asked  him 
what  was  the  answer  to  that  question  which  was  given  in 
the  Law  which  it  was  the  very  object  of  the  man's  life  to 
teach  and  to  explain.  The  lawyer  gave  the  best  summary 
which  the  best  teacliing  of  his  nation  had  by  this  time  ren- 
dered prevalent.  Jesus  simply  confirmed  his  answer,  and 
said,  ''This  do,  and  thou  shalt  live."  But  wanting  some- 
thing more  than  this,  and  anxious  to  justify  a  question 
which  from  his  own  point  of  view  was  superfluous,  and 
which  had,  as  he  well  knew,  been  asked  with  an  ungener- 
ous purpose,  the  lawyer  thought  to  cover  his  retreat  by  the 
fresh  question,  •'  And  who  is  my  neighbor?"  Had  Jesus 
asked  the  man's  own  opinion  on  this  question.  He  well 
knew  how  narrow  and  false  it  would  have  been  ;  He  there- 
fore answered  it  Himself,  or  rather  gave  to  the  lawyer  the 
means  for  answering  it,  by  one  of  His  most  striking  par- 
ables. He  told  him  how  once  a  man,  going  down  the 
rocky  gorge  which  led  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  robbers,  whose  frequent 
attacks  had  given  to  tliat  descent  the  ill-omened  name  of 
"  the  bloody  way,"  and  had  been  left  by  these  Bedawin 
marauders,  after  tlie  fasliion  which  they  still  practice, 
bleeding,  naked  and  half  dead  upon  the  road.  A  priest 
going  back  to  his  priestly  city  had  passed  that  way,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  him,  and  crossed  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
road.  A  Levite,  with  still  cooler  indifference,  had  come 
and  stared  at  him,  and  quietly  done  the  same.  But  a 
Samaritan  journeying  that  way — one  on  whom  he  would 
have  looked  with  shuddering  national  antipathy,  one  in 
whose  very  shadow  he  would  have  seen  pollution — a  good 
.Samaritan,  pattern  of  that  Divine  Speaker  whom  men 
rejected  and  despised,  but  who  had  come  to  stanch  those 
bleeding   wounds  of   humanity,   for  which   there  was    no 


TEACHINGS  OF  THK  JOURNEY.  837 

remedy  either  in  the  ceremonial  or  tlie  moral  law — eanie  to 
him,  pitied,  tended  him,  monnted  him  on  liis  own  beast, 
trudged  beside  him  on  the  hard,  hot,  dusty,  dangerous 
road,  and  would  not  leave  him  till  he  luul  secured  his 
safety,  and  generously  provided  for  his  future  wants. 
Which  of  these  three,  Jesus  asked  the  lawyer,  was  neiglihor 
to  him  who  fell  among  thieves?  The  man  was  not  so  dull  as 
to  refuse  to  see  ;  but  yet,  knowing  that  he  would  have  ex- 
cluded alike  the  Saniaritans  and  the  Gentiles  from  his 
definition  of  ''neighbors,"  he  has  not  the  candor  to  say  ab 
once,  "The  Samaritan,"  but  uses  the  poor  periphrasis, 
"He  that  did  him  the  kindness."  "Go,"  said  Jesus,  "and  do 
thou  likewise."  I,  the  friend  of  publicans  and  sinners, 
hold  up  the  example  of  this  Samaritan  to  thee. 

We  must  not,  however,  suppose  that  these  two  months  of 
mission-progress  were  all  occupied  in  teaching,  which, 
however  exalted,  received  its  eternal  shape  and  impulse 
from  the  errors  and  controversies  which  met  the  Saviour 
on  His  way.  There  were  many  circumstances  during  these 
days  which  must  have  filled  His  soul  with  joy. 

Pre-eminent  among  these  was  the  return  of  the 
Seventy.  We  cannot,  of  course,  suppose  that  they  re- 
turned'in  a  body,  but  that  from  time  to  time,  two  and 
two,  as  our  Lord  approached  the  various  cities  and  vil- 
lages whither  He  had' sent  them,  they  came  to  give  Him 
an  account  of  their  success.  And  that  success  was  such 
as  to  fill  their  simple  hearts  with  astonishment  and  exulta- 
tion. "  Lord,"  they  exclaimed,  "  even  the  devils  are 
subject  unto  us  through  Thy  name."  Though  he  had 
given  them  no  special  commission  to  heal  demoniacs,  though 
in  one  conspicuous  instance  even  the  Apostles  had  failed 
in  this  attempt,  yet  now  they  could  cast  out  devils  in  their 
Master's  name.  "  Jesus,  while  entering  into  their  joy,  yet 
checked  the  tone  of  over-exultation,  and  rather  turned  it 
into  a  nobler  and  holier  channel.  He  bade  thom  feel  sure 
that  good  was  eternally  mightier  than  evil  ;  and  that  the 
victory  over  Satan— his  fall  like  lightning  front  lieaven— 
had  been  achieved  and  should  continue  forever.  Over  all 
the  evil  influences  He  gave  them  authority  and  victory, 
and  the  word  of  His  promise  should  be  an  amulet  to  pro- 
tect them  from  every  source  of  harm.  They  sliould  go 
upon  the  lion  and  adder,  the  young  lion  and   the  dragon 


338  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

slioulil  thoy  tread  uiuler  feet;  because  lie  had  set  Tlis  love 
upon  them,  therefore  would  Lie  deliver  them  :  lie  would 
set  them  up  because  they  had  known  His  name.  And  yet 
there  was  a  subject  of  joy  more  deej)  and  real  and  true — 
less  dangerous  because  less  seemingly  personal  and  con- 
spicuous than  this  —  on  which  He  rather  fixed  their 
thoughts:  it'was  tliat  their  names  had  been  written,  and 
stood  unobliterated,  in  the  Book  of  Life  in  heaven. 

And  beside  the  gladness  inspired  into  the  heart  of  Jesus 
by  the  hap})y  faith  and  unbounded  hope  of  His  disciples, 
He  also  rejoiced  in  spirit  tliat,  though  rejected  and  de- 
spised by  Scribes  and  Plnirisees,  He  was  loved  and  wor- 
shiped by  Publicans  aiul  Sinners.  Tiie  poor  to  wliom  He 
preached  His  Gospel,  the  blind  whose  eyes  He  had  come 
to  open,  the  sick  wliotn  He  had  come  to  heal,  the  lost 
whom  it  was  His  mission  to  seek  and  save — these  all 
thronged  with  heartfelt  and  pathetic  gratitude  to  the 
Good  Shepherd,  the  Great  Physician.  The  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  as  usual  murmured,  but  what  mattered  that  to 
the  happy  listeners?  To  tlie  weary  and  heavy-laden  He 
spoke  in  every  varied  form  of  hope,  of  blessing,  of  encour- 
agement. By  the  parable  of  the  Importunate  Widow  He 
taught  them  the  duty  of  faith,  and  the  certain  answer  to 
ceaseless  and  earnest  prayer.  By  the  parable  of  the 
haughty,  respectable,  fasting,  alms-giving,  self-satisfied 
Pharisee — wlio,  going  to  make  his  boast  to  God  in  the 
Temple,  went  home  less  justified  than  the  poor  Publican, 
who  could  only  reiterate  one  single  cry  for  God's  mercy  as 
he  stood  there  beating  his  breast,  and  with  downcast  eyes 
— He  taught  them  that  God  loves  better  a  penitent  hu- 
mility than  a  merely  external  service,  and  that  a  broken 
heart  and  a  contrite  spirit  were  sacrifices  which  He  would 
not  despise.  Nor  was  this  all.  He  made  them  feel  that 
they  were  dear  to  God;  that,  though  erring  children,  they 
were  His  children  still.  And,  therefore,  to  the  parables 
of  the  Lost  Sheep  and  the  Lost  Drachma,  He  added  that 
parable  in  which  lies  the  whole  Gospel  in  its  richest  and 
tenderest  grace — the  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son. 

Never  certainly  in  human  language  was  so  much — such  a 
world  of  love  and  wisdom  and  tenderness — compressed  into 
such  few  immortal  words.  Every  line,  every  touch  of  the 
picture  is  full  of  beautiful  etei-nal  significance.     The  poor 


TEACHINGS  OF  THE  JOVRNET.  339 

boy's  presumptuous  claim  for  all  that  life  could  give  liiui — 
the  leaving  of  the  old  home — the  journey  to  a  far  country 
— the  brief  spasm  of  "enjoyment"  there — the  mighty 
famine  in  the  land — the  premature  exhaustion  of  all  that 
could  make  life  noble  and  endurable— the  abysnuil  degi-a- 
dation  and  unutterable  misery  that  followed — the  coming 
to  himself,  and  recollection  of  all  that  he  had  left  behind 
— the  return  in  heart-broken  penitence  and  deep  humility 
—the  father's  far-off  sight  of  him,  and  the  gush  of  com- 
passion and  tenderness  over  this  poor  returning  prodigal — 
the  ringing  joy  of  the  whole  household  over  him  who  had 
been  loved  and  lost,  and  had  now  come  home — the  unjust 
jealousy  and  mean  complaint  of  the  elder  brother — and 
then  that  close  of  the  parable  in  a  strain  of  music — "Son, 
thou  art  ever  with  me,  and  all  tliat  I  have  is  thine.  It  was 
meet  that  we  should  make  merry,  and  be  glad;  for  this  thy 
brother  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again ;  was  lost,  and  is 
found" — all  this  indeed  is  a  divine  epitome  of  the  wander- 
ing of  man  and  the  love  of  God,  such  as  no  literature  has 
ever  equaled,  such  as  no  ear  of  man  has  ever  heard  else- 
where. Put  in  the  one  scale  all  that  Confucius,  or  Sakya 
Mouni,  or  Zoroaster,  or  Socrates,  ever  wrote  or  said — and 
they  wrote  and  said  many  beautiful  and  holy  words — and 
put  in  the  other  the  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son  alone, 
with  all  that  this  single  pai'able  connotes  and  means,  and 
can  any  candid  s])irit  doubt  which  scale  would  outweigh 
the  other  in  eternal  preciousness — in  divine  adaptation  to 
the  wants  of  man? 

So  this  great  journey  grew  gradually  to  a  close.  The 
awful  solemnity — the  shadow,  as  it  were,  of  coming  doom 
— the  half  uttered  "  too  late  "  which  might  be  dimly  heard 
in  its  tones  of  warning — characterize  the  single  record  of 
it  which  the  Evangelist  St.  Luke  has  happily  preserved. 
We  seem  to  hear  tliroughout  it  an  undertone  of  that  deep, 
yearning,  which  .Jesus  had  before  expressed — "I  have  a 
baptism  to  be  baptized  with  ;  and  how  am  I  straitened 
until  it  be  accomplished!"  It  was  a  sorrow  for  all  the 
broken  peace  and  angry  opposition  which  His  work  would 
cause  on  earth — a  sense  that  He  was  prepared  to  plunge 
into  the  "willing  agony"  of  the  already  kindled  flame. 
And  this  seems  to  have  struck  the  minds  of  all  who  heard 
Him;  they  had  an  expectation,  fearful  or  glad  according 


340  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

to  the  coiulitioii  of  their  consciences,  of  something  groat. 
Some  new  mcUiifestation — some  revelation  of  the  thonghts 
of  men's  hearts — was  near  at  liaml.  At  hist  the  Phari- 
sees snmmoned  up  courage  to  ask  llim  "  When  the  kingdom 
of  God  should  come?'"  There  was  a  ccrlain  impatience, 
a  certain  materialism,  possibly  also  a  tinge  of  sarcasm  and 
depreciation  in  the  question,  as  though  they  had  said, 
"  When  is  all  this  preaching  and  preparation  to  end,  and 
the  actual  time  to  arrive  ?"  His  answer,  as  usual, 
indicated  that  their  point  of  view  was  wholly  mistaken. 
The  coming  of  the  kingdom  of  God  could  not  be  ascer- 
tained by  the  kind  of  narrow  and  curious  watching  to 
which  they  were  addicted.  False  Christs  and  mistaken 
Rabbis  might  cry  "  La  here !"  and  " Lo  there!"  but  that 
kingdom  was  already  in  the  midst  of  them  ;  nay,  if  they 
had  the  will  and  the  wisdom  to  recognize  and  to  embrace 
it,  that  kingdom  was  within  them.  That  answer  was  suffi- 
cient to  the  Pharisees,  but  to  His  disciples  He  added 
words  which  implied  the  fuller  explanation.  Even  they 
did  not  fully  realize  that  the  kingdom  had  already  come. 
Their  eyes  were  strained  forward  in  intense  and  yearning- 
eagerness  to  some  glorious  future  ;  but  in  the  future, 
glorious  as  it  would  be,  they  would  still  look  backward 
with  yet  deeper  yearning,  not  nnmingled  with  regret,  to 
this  very  past — to  these  days  of  the  Son  of  Man,  in  which 
they  were  seeing  and  their  hands  handling  the  AVord  of 
Life.  In  those  days,  let  them  not  be  deceived  by  any  "  Lo 
there  I  Lo  here  !"  nor  let  them  waste  in  feverish  and 
fruitless  restlessness  the  calm  and  golden  opportunities  of 
life.  For  that  coming  of  the  Son  of  Man  should  be 
bright,  sudden,  terrible,  nniversal,  irresistible  as  the 
lightning  flash  ;  but  before  that  day  He  must  suffer  and 
be  rejected.  Moreover,  that  gleam  of  His  second  advent 
would  flame  upon  the  midnight  of  a  sensual,  unexpectant 
world,  as  the  flood  rolled  over  the  festive  sensualism  in  the 
days  of  Noah,  and  the  fire  and  brimstone  streamed  from 
heaven  upon  the  glittering  rottenness  of  the  Cities  of  the 
Plain.  Woe  to  those  who  should  in  that  day  be  casting 
regretful  glances  on  a  world  destined  to  pass  away  in 
flame  !  For  though  till  then  the  business  and  the  compan- 
ionships of  life  should  continue,  and  all  its  various  fellow- 
ships of  toil  or  friendliness,  that  night  would  be  one  of 
fearful  and  of  final  separations  ! 


THE  FEAST  OF  DEDICATION.  M\ 

The  disciples  were  startled  and  terrified  by  words  of 
such  strange  solemnity.  "  Where,  Lord  ?"  they  ask  in 
alarm.  But  to  the  "where"  there  could  be  as  little 
answer  as  to  the  **  when,"  and  the  coming  of  God's 
kingdom  is  as  little  geograpliical  as  it  is  chronological. 
'MVheresoever  the  body  is,"  He  says,  "thither  will  the 
vultures  be  gathered  togetlier."  The  mystic  Armageddon 
is  no  place  whose  situation  you  may  fix  by  latitude  and 
longitude.  Wherever  there  is  individual  wickedness, 
wherever  there  is  social  degeneracy,  wherever  there  is  deep 
national  corruption,  thither  do  the  eagle-avengers  of  the 
Divine  vengeance  wing  their  flight  from  far  ;  thither  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth  come  nations  of  a  fierce  counte- 
nance, "  swift  as  the  eagle  flieth,"  to  rend  and  to  devour. 
"  Her  young  ones  also  suck  up  blood  :  and  where  the  slain 
are,  there  is  she."  Jerusalem — nay,  the  whole  Jewish 
nation — was  falling  rapidly  into  the  dissolution  arising 
from  internal  decay ;  and  already  the  flap  of  avenging 
pijiions  was  in  the  air.  W^hen  the  world  too  should  lie  in 
a  state  of  morbid  infamy,  then  should  be  heard  once  more 
the  rushing  of  those  "  congregated  wings." 

'Is  not  all  history  one  long  vast  commentary  on  these 
great  prophecies  ?  In  the  destinies  of  nations  and  of 
races  has  not  the  Christ  returned  again  and  again  to  deliver 
or  to  judge  ? 


CHAPTEE  XLV. 

THE    FEAST   OF    DEDICATIOST. 

Nowhere,  in  all  ])robability,  did  Jesus  pass  more  restful 
and  happy  hours  than  in  the  quiet  house  of  that  little 
family  at  Bethany,  which,  as  we  are  told  by  St.  John, 
"He  loved."  The  family,  so  far  as  we  know,  consisted 
only  of  Martha,  Mary,  :ind  their  brother  Lazarus.  That 
Martha  was  a  widow — that  her  husband  was,  or  had  been, 
Simon  the  ]je[)ei' — that  Lazarus  is  identical  with  the 
gentle  and  holy  Rabbi  of  tiiat  name  inentioned  in  the 
Talmud — are  conjectures  that  may  or  may  not  be  true; 
but  we  see  from  the  Cospels  that  they  were  a  fatnily  in 
easy  circumstances,  and  of  suflicient  dignity  and  position 


342  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

to  excite  consiilerable  utteiition  not  only  iu  their  own  little 
village  of  Bethany,  but  even  in  Jerusalem.  The  lonely 
little  hamlet,  lying  among  its  peaceful  uplands,  near 
Jerusalem,  and  yet  completely  hidden  from  it  by  the 
summit  of  Olivet,  and  thus 

"  Not  wholly  in  the  busy  world,  nor  quite 
Beyond  it," 

must  always  have  had  for  the  soul  of  Jesus  an  especial 
charm  ;  and  the  more  so  because  of  the  friends  whose  love 
and  reverence  always  placed  at  His  disposal  tlieir  holy  and 
happy  home.  It  is  there  that  we  lind  Him  on  the  eve  of 
the  Feast  of  the  Dedication,  which  marked  the  close  of 
that  public  journey  designed  for  the  full  and  final  proc- 
lamation of  Ilis  coming  kingdom. 

It  was  natural  that  there  should  be  some  stir  in  the  little 
household  at  tlio  coming  of  such  a  Guest,  and  Martha,  the 
busy,  eager-hearted,  affectionate  hostess,  "on  hospitable 
thoughts  intent,"  hurried  to  and  fro  with  excited  energy  to 
prepare  for  His  proper  entertainment.  Her  sister  Mary, 
too,  was  anxious  to  receive  Him  fittingly,  but  her  notions 
of  the  reverence  due  to  Him  were  of  a  different  kind. 
Knowing  that  her  sister  was  only  too  happy  to  do  all  that 
could  be  done  for  His  material  comfort,  she,  in  deep 
humility,  sat  at  His  feet  and  listened  to  His  words. 

Mary  was  not  to  blame,  for  her  sister  evidently  enjoyed 
the  task  which  she  had  chosen  of  providing  as  best  she 
could  for  the  claims  of  hospitality,  and  was  quite  able, 
without  any  assistance,  to  do  everything  that  was  required. 
Nor  was  Martha  to  blame  for  her  active  service;  her  sole 
fault  was  that,  in  this  outward  activity,  she  lost  the  neces- 
sary equilibrium  of  an  inward  claim.  As  she  toiled  and 
planned  to  serve  Him,  a  little  touch  of  jealousy  disturbed 
her  peace  as  she  saw  her  quiet  sister  sitting — "  idly"  she 
may  have  thought — at  the  feet  of  their  great  Visitor,  and 
leaving  the  trouble  to  fall  on  her.  If  she  had  taken  time 
to  think,  she  could  not  but  have  acknowledged  that  there 
may  have  been  as  much  of  consideration  as  of  selfishness 
in  Mary's  withdrawal  into  the  background  in  tlicir  domes- 
tic administration  ;  but  to  be  just  and  noble-mi)uled  is 
always  difficult,  nor  is  it  even  possible  when  any  one  mean- 
ness, such  as  petty  jealousy,  is  suffered  to  intrude.     So,  in 


THE  FEAST  OF  DEDICATION.  343 

the  first  blush  of  her  vexation,  Martha,  instead  of  gently 
asking  her  sister  to  help  her,  if  help,  indeed,  were  needed 
— an  appeal  which,  if  we  judge  of  Mary  aright,  she  would 
instantly  have  heard — she  almost  impatiently,  and  not 
quite  reverently,  hurries  in,  and  asks  Jesus  if  He  really  did 
not  care  to  see  her  sister  sitting  there  with  her  hands  before 
her,  while  she  was  left  single-handed  to  do  all  the  work. 
AVould  He  not  tell  her  (Martha  could  not  have  fairly  added 
that  common  piece  of  ill-nature,  "  It  is  of  no  use  for  me  to 
tell  her")  to  go  and  help? 

An  imperfect  soul,  seeing  what  is  good  and  great  and 
true,  but  very  often  failing  in  the  attempt  to  attain  to  it, 
is  apt  to  be  very  hard  in  its  judgments  on  the  shortcom- 
ings of  others.  But  a  divine  and  sovereign  son! — a  soul 
that  has  more  nearly  attained  to  the  measure  of  the  stature 
of  the  perfect  man— takes  a  calmer  and  gentler,  because  a 
larger-hearted  view  of  those  little  weaknesses  and  indirect- 
nesses which  it  cannot  but  daily  see.  And  so  the  answer 
of  Jesus,  if  it  were  a  reproof,  was  at  any  rate  an  infinitely 
gentle  and  tender  one,  and  one  wiiich  would  purify  but 
would  not  pain  the  poor  faithful  heart  of  the  busy,  young 
matron  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  "  Martha,  Martha,"  so 
He  said — and  as  we  hear  that  most  natural  address  may  we 
not  imagine  the  half-sad,  half-playful,  but  wholly  kind  and 
healing  smile  which  lightened  His  face?— "  thou  art  anxious 
and  bustling  about  many  things,  whereas  but  one  thing  is 
needful;  but  Mary  cliose  for  herself  the  good  part,  which 
shall  not  be  taken  away  from  her."  There  is  none  of  that 
exaltation  here  of  the  contemplative  over  the  active  life 
which  Roman  Catholic  writers  have  seen  in  the  passage, 
and  on  which  they  are  so  fond  of  dwelling.  Either  may 
be  necessary,  both  must  be  combined.  Paul,  as  has  well 
been  said,  in  his  most  fervent  activity,  had  yet  the  contem- 
plativeness  and  inward  calm  of  Mary;  and  John,  with  the 
most  rapt  spirit  of  contemplation,  could  yet  practice  the 
activity  of  Martha.  Jesus  did  not  mean  to  reprobate  any 
amount  of  work  undertaken  in  His  service,  but  or.ly  the 
spirit  of  fret  and  fuss— the  want  of  all  repose  ai\d  calm — 
the  ostentation  of  superfiuous  hospitality— in  doing  it;  and 
still  more  that  tendency  to  reprobate  and  interfere  with 
others,  \y\\\v\\  is  so  often  seen  in  ('hristians  who  are  as 
anxious  as  ^fartlia,  but  have  none  of  Mary's  holy  trustful- 
ness and  perfect  calm. 


344  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

It  is  likely  that  Bethany  was  the  home  of  Jesns  during 
His  visits  to  Jerusalem,  and  from  it  a  short  and  delightful 
"walk  over  the  Mount  of  Olives  would  take  Him  to  the 
'remple.  It  was  now  winter-time,  and  the  Feast  of  the 
Dedication  was  being  celebrated.  This  feast  was  held  on 
the  2oth  of  Cisleu,  and,  according  to  Wieseler,  fell  this 
year  on  December  20th.  It  was  founded  by  Judas  Macca- 
bffius  in  honor  of  the  cleansing  of  the  Temj)le  in  the  year 
B.C.  164.  six  years  and  a  half  after  its  fearful  profanation 
by  Antiochus  Ej)i})hanes.  Like  the  Passover  and  tiie  Tab- 
ernacles, it  lasted  eight  days,  and  was  kept  with  great  re- 
joicing. Besides  its  Greek  name  of  Enci^nia,  it  had  the 
name  of  rd  cpaora,  or  the  Lights,  and  one  feature  of  the 
festivity  was  a  general  illumination  to  celebi'ate  the  legend- 
ary miracle  of  a  miraculous  multiplication,  for  eight  days, 
of  the  holy  oil  which  had  been  found  by  Judas  Maccabaeus 
in  one  single  jar  sealed  with  the  High  Priest's  seal.  Our 
Lord's  presence  at  such  a  festival  sanctions  the  right  of 
each  Church  to  ordain  its  own  rites  and  ceremonies,  and 
shows  that  He  looked  with  no  disapproval  on  the  joyous 
enthusiasm  of  national  patriotism. 

The  eastern  porch  of  the  1'emple  still  retained  the  name 
of  Solomon's  Porch,  because  it  was  at  least  built  of  the  ma- 
terials which  had  formed  part  of  the  ancient  Temple.  Here, 
in  this  bright  colonnade,  decked  for  the  feast  with  glittering 
trophies,  Jesus  was  walking  up  and  down,  quietly,  and  ap- 
parently without  companions,  sometimes,  perhaps,  gazing 
across  the  valley  of  the  Kidron  at  the  whited  sepulchers  of 
the  prophets,  whom  generations  of  Jews  had  slain,  and 
enjoying  the  mild  winter  sunlight,  when,  as  though  by  a 
preconcerted  movement,  the  Pharisaic  party  and  their 
leaders  suddenly  surrounded  and  began  to  question  Him. 
Perhaps  the  very  spot  where  He  was  walking,  recalling  as 
it  did  the  memories  of  their  ancient  glory — perhaps  the 
memories  of  the  glad  feast  which  they  were  celebrating, 
as  the  anniversary  of  a  splendid  deliverance  wrought  by  a 
handful  of  brave  men  who  had  overthrown  a  colossal 
tyranny — inspired  their  ardent  appeal.  "  How  long," 
they  impatiently  inquired,  "dost  thou  hold  our  souls  in 
painful  suspense  ?  If  thou  really  art  the  Messiah,  tell  us 
with  confidence.  Tell  us  Jiere,  in  Solomon's  Porch,  now, 
while   the  sight  of  these  shields  and  golden  crowns,  and 


THE  FEAST  OF  DEDICATION.  345 

the  melody  of  these  citherns  and  cymbals,  recall  the  glory 
of  Judas  the  Asmonfean — wilt  thou  be  a  mightier  Macca- 
baeus,  a  more  glorious  Solomon  ?  sliall  tliese  citrons,  and 
fair  boughs,  and  palms,  which  we  carry  in  honor  of  this 
day's  victory,  be  carried  some  day  for  thee  ?"  It  was  a 
strange,  impetuous,  impatient  appeal,  and  is  full  of  sig- 
nificance. It  forms  their  own  strong  condemnation,  for 
it  shows  distinctly  that  lie  had  spoken  words  and  done 
deeds  which  would  have  jnstified  and  substantiated  such 
a  claim  had  He  cliosen  definitely  to  assert  it.  And  if  lie 
liad  in  so  many  words  assorted  it — above  all,  had  He  as- 
serted it  in  the  sense  and  with  the  objects  which  tliey  required 
— it  is  probable  that  they  would  luive  instantly  welcomed 
Ilini  with  tumultuous  acclaim.  The  phice  where  they 
were  speaking  recalled  the  most  gorgeous  dreams  of  their 
ancient  monarchy;  the  occasion  was  rife  with  the  heroic 
memories  of  one  of  their  bravest  and  most  successful  war- 
riors ;  the  political  conditions  which  surrounded  them 
were  exactly  such  as  those  from  which  the  noble  Asmon- 
^an  had  delivered  them.  One  spark  of  that  ancient  flame 
would  have  kindled  their  inflammable  spirits  into  such  a 
blaze  of  irresistible  fanaticism  as  might  for  the  time  have 
swept  away  both  the  Romans  and  the  Ilerods,  but  which 
— since  the  hour  of  their  fall  had  already  begun  to  strike, 
and  the  cup  of  their  iniquity  was  already  full — would  only 
have  antedated  by  many  years  the  total  destruction  which 
fell  upon  them,  first  when  they  were  slain  by  myriads  at 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  by  Titus,  and  afterward  when 
the  false  Messiah,  Bar-Cochebas,  and  liis  followers  were  so 
frightfully  exterminated  at  the  capture  of  Bethyr. 

But  the  day  for  political  deliverances  was  past  ;  the  day 
for  a  liigher,  deeper,  wider,  more  eternal  deliverance  had 
come.  For  the  former  they  yearned,  the  latter  they  re- 
jected. Passionate  to  claim  in  Jesus  an  exclusive  tem- 
poral Messiah,  they  repelled  Him  with  hatred  as  the  Sou 
of  God,  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  That  He  was  their 
]\[essiah  in  a  sense  far  loftier  and  more  spiritual  than  they 
had  ever  dreamed.  His  language  had  again  aiul  again 
im[ilied;  but  the  Messiah  in  tlie  sense  whinh  they  required 
He  was  not,  and  would  not  be.  Ami  therefore  He  does 
not  mislead  them  by  saying,  "  I  am  your  Messiah,"  but 
He  refers  tlujm  to  that  repeated  teaching,  which  showed 


346  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

liow  cleurly  such  had  been  His  claim,  and  to  the  works 
which  bore  witness  to  that  claim.  Had  they  been  sheep 
of  His  flock — and  He  here  reminds  them  of  that  great 
discourse  which  He  had  delivered  at  the  Feast  of  Tabei'- 
nacles  two  months  before — they  would  have  heard  His 
voice,  and  then  He  would  have  given  them  eternal  life, 
and  they  would  have  been  safe  in  His  keeping;  for  no  ojie 
would  then  have  been  able  to  pluck  them  out  of  His 
Father's  hand,  and  He  added  solemnly,  "  I  and  My  Father 
are  one." 

His  meaning  was  quite  unmistakable.  In  these  words 
He  was  claiming  not  only  to  be  Messiah,  but  to  be  Divine. 
Had  the  oneness  with  the  Father  which  He  claimed  been 
nothing  more  than  that  subjective  union  of  faith  and  obedi- 
eiice  which  exists  between  all  holy  souls  and  their  Creator — 
His  words  could  have  given  no  more  offense  than  many  a 
saying  of  their  own  kings  and  prophets;  but  "  ecce  Judaei 
intellexei'unt  quod  non  intelliyiDit  Ariani !" — they  saw  at 
once  that  the  words  meant  infinitely  more.  Instantly 
they  stooped  to  seize  some  of  the  scattered  heavy  stones 
which  the  unfinished  Temple  buildings  supplied  to  their 
fury,  and  had  His  hour  been  come.  He  could  not  have 
escaped  the  tumultuary  death  which  afterward  befell  His 
proto-martyr.  But  His  undisturbed  majesty  disarmed 
them  with  a  word:  "  Many  good  deeds  did  I  show  yon  from 
My  Father:  for  wdiich  of  these  do  ye  mean  to  stone  me  ?" 
''Not  for  any  good  deed,"  they  replied,  "but  for  bias- 
piiemy,  and  because  thou,  being  a  mere  man,  art  making 
thyself  God."  The  reply  of  Jesus  is  one  of  those  broad 
gleams  of  illumination  which  He  often  sheds  on  the  inter- 
pretation of  the  Scriptures:  ''Does  it  not  stand  written  in 
your  law,"  He  asked  them,  "  '  I  said,  Ye  are  gods  ?'  If  he 
called  them  gods  (Flohim)  to  whom  the  Word  of  God  came 
— and  such  undeniably  is  the  case  in  your  own  Scriptures- 
do  ye  say  to  Him  whom  the  Father  sanctified  and  sent  into 
the  world,  'Thou  blasphemest,'  because  I  said,  'I  am  the 
Son  of  God.'  "  And  He  appealed  to  His  life  and  to  His 
works,  as  undeniable  proofs  of  His  unity  with  the 
Father.  If  His  sinlessless  and  His  mii-acles  were  not  a 
proof  that  He  could  not  be  the  presumptuous  blasphemer 
whom  they  wished  to  stone — what  further  proof  could  be 
given?     They,  nursed  in  the    strictest    monotheism,    and 


THE  FEAST  OF  DEDICATION.  347 

accustomed  only  to  think  of  God  as  infinitely  far  from 
man,  might  have  learned  even  from  the  Law  and  the 
Prophets  that  God  is  near — is  in  the  very  mouth  and  in 
the  very  heart — of  those  who  love  Him,  and  even  bestows 
upon  them  some  indwelling  brightness  of  His  own  internal 
glory.  Might  not  this  be  a  sign  to  them,  that  He  who 
came  to  fulfil  the  Law  and  put  a  loftier  Law  in  its  place — 
He  to  whom  all  the  prophets  had  witnessed — He  for  whom 
John  had  prepared  the  way — He  who  spake  as  never  man 
spake — He  who  did  the  works  which  none  other  man  had 
ever  done  since  the  foundation  of  the  world — He  who  had 
ratified  all  His  words,  and  given  significance  to  all  His 
deeds,  by  the  blameless  beauty  of  an  absolutely  stainless  life 
— was  indeed  speaking  the  truth  when  He  said  that  He  was 
one  with  t!ie  Father,  and  that  He  was  the  Son  of  God? 

The  appeal  was  irresistible.  They  dared  not  stone  Him  ; 
but,  as  He  was  alone  and  defenceless  in  the  midst  of  them, 
they  tried  to  seize  Him.  But  they  could  not.  His  pres- 
ence overawed  them.  They  could  only  make  a  passage 
for  Him,  and  glare  their  hatred  upon  Him  as  He  passed 
from  among  them.  But  once  more,  here  was  a  clear  sign 
that  all  teaching  among  tliem  was  impossible.  He  could 
as  little  descend  to  their  notions  of  a  Messiah,  as  they 
could  rise  to  His.  To  stay  among  them  was  but  daily  to 
imperil  His  life  in  vain.  Judaea,  therefore,  was  closed  to 
Him,  as  Galilee  was  closed  to  Him.  There  seemed  to  be 
one  district  only  which  was  safe  for  Him  in  His  native 
land,  and  that  was  Peraea,  the  district  beyond  the  Jordan. 
He  retired,  therefore,  to  the  other  Bethany — the  Bethany 
beyond  Jordan,  where  John  had  once  been  baptizing — and 
there  he  stayed. 

What  were  the  incidents  of  this  last  stay,  or  the  exact 
length  of  its  continuance,  we  do  not  know.  We  see  how- 
ever, that  it  was  not  exactly  private,  for  St.  John  tells  us 
that  many  resorted  to  Him  there,  and  believed  on  Him, 
and  bore  witness  that  John — whom  they  held  to  be  a 
Prophet,  though  he  had  done  no  miracle — had  boi-ne 
emphatic  witness  to  Jesus  in  that  very  place,  and  that  all 
which  he  had  witnessed  was  true. 


348  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    LAST   STAY   IN    PER^A. 

Wherever  the  ministry  of  Jesns  was  in  the  slightest 
degree  public  there  we  iiivuriably  find  the  Pharisees 
watching,  lying  in  wait  for  Iliin,  tempting  Him,  trying  to 
enti'a})  Him  into  some  mistaken  judgment  or  ruinous 
decision.  But  perhaps  even  tJteir  malignity  never  framed 
a  question  to  which  the  answer  was  so  beset  with  diffi- 
culties as  when  they  came  to  tempt  him  with  the  problem, 
*'Is  it  lawful  for  a  man  to  put  away  his  wife  for  every 
cause?" 

The  question  was  beset  with  difficulties  on  every  side, 
and  for  many  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  the  institution 
of  Moses  on  the  subject  was  ambiguously  expressed.  Then 
this  had  given  rise  to  a  decided  opposition  of  opinion 
between  tlie  two  most  important  and  flourishing  of  the 
rabbinic  schools.  The  difference  of  the  schools  had 
resulted  in  a  difference  in  the  customs  of  the  nation. 
Lastly,  the  theological,  scholastic,  ethical  and  national 
difficulties  were  furtlier  complicated  by  political  ones,  for 
the  prince  in  whose  domain  the  question  was  asked  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  answer,  and  had  already  put  to 
death  the  greatest  of  the  prophets  for  his  bold  expression 
of  the  view  which  was  most  hostile  to  his  own  practices. 
AVhatever  the  truckling  Rabbis  of  Galilee  might  do,  St. 
John  the  Baptist,  at  least,  had  left  no  shadow  of  a  doubt 
as  to  what  was  his  interpretation  of  tlie  Law  of  Moses,  and 
he  had  paid  the  penalty  of  his  frankness  with  his  life. 

Moses  had  laid  down  the  rule  that  when  a  man  had 
married  a  wife,  and  ''she  find  no  favor  in  his  eyes  because 
he  hath  found  some  uncleanness  (marg.,  'matter  of 
nakedness,'  ervnth  dabltar)  in  her,  then  let  him  write 
a  bill  of  divorcement,  and  give  it  in  her  hand,  and 
send  her  out  of  his  house.  And  when  she  is  departed  out 
of  his  house,  she  may  go  and  be  another  man's  wife." 
Now  in  the  interpretation  of  this  rule,  everything  de- 
pended on  the  meaning  of  the  expression  ervath  dnhhar, 
or  rather  on   the   meaning  of  the  single  word  ervatli.     It 


THE  LAST  :^T.\  Y  IN  PER^EA.  349 

meant,  generally,  a  stain  or  desecration,  and  Hillel,  witli 
his  school,  explained  the  passage  in  the  sense  that  a  man 
might ''divorce  his  wife  for  any  disgust  which  he  felt 
toward  her;"  even— as  the  celebrated  R.  Akiba  ventured 
to  say — if  he  saw  any  other  woman  who  pleased  him  more  ; 
whereas  the  school  of  Shammai  interpreted  it  to  mean 
that  divorce  could  only  take  place  in  cases  of  scandalous 
inichastity.  Hence  the  Jews  had  the  proverb  in  this 
matter,  as  in  so  many  others,  "  Hillel  loosed  what 
Shammai  bound." 

Shammai  was  morally  right  and  exegetically  wrong ; 
Hillel  exegetically  right  and  morally  wrong.  Shammai 
was  only  right  in  so  far  as  lie  saw  that  the  ,ynrit  of  the 
Mosaic  legislation  made  no  divorce  justifiable  in  foro  con- 
scienticB,  except  for  the  most  flagrant  immorality  ;  Hillel 
only  right  in  so  far  as  he  saw  that  Moses  had  left  an  open- 
ing for  divorce '/m/o?'o  ci'y/'/t  in  slighter  cases  than  these. 
But  nnder  such  circumstances,  to  decide  in  favor  of  either 
school  would  not  only  be  to  give  mortal  offence  to  the 
other,  but  also  either  to  exasperate  the  lax  many  or  to  dis- 
gust the  high-minded  few.  For  in  those  corrupt  days  the 
vast  majority  acted  at  any  rate  on  the  principle  laid  down 
by  Hillel,  as  the  Jews  in  the  East  continue  to  do  to  this 
day.  Such,  in  fact,  was  the  universal  tendency  of  the 
times.  In  tlie  heathen,  and  especially  in  the  Roman 
world,  the  strictness  of  the  marriage  bond  had  been  so 
shamefully  relaxed,  that,  whereas,  in  the  Republic,  cen- 
turies had  passed  before  there  had  been  one  single  instance 
of  a  frivolous  divorce,  under  the  Empire,  on  the  contrary, 
divorce  was  tlie  rule,  and  faithfulness  the  exception.  The 
days  of  the  Virginias,  and  Lucretias,  and  Cornelias  had 
passed;  this  was  the  age  of  the  Julias,  the  Poppseas,  the 
Messalinas,  the  Agrippinas — the  days  in  which,  as  Seneca 
says,  women  no  longer  reckoned  their  years  by  the  consuls, 
but  by  the  number  of  their  repudiated  husbands.  The 
Jews  had  caught  up  the  shameful  precedent,  and  since 
polygamy  had  fallen  into  discredit,  they  made  a  near 
approach  to  it  by  the  ease  with  which  they  were  able  to 
dismiss  one  wife  and  take  another.  Even  Josephus,  a 
Pharisee  of  the  Pharisees,  who  on  every  possible  occasion 
prominently  lays  claim  to  the  character  and  position  of  a 
devout  and  religious  man,  narrates,  without  the  shadow  of 


350  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

an  apology,  that  his  first,  wife  liad  abaiuloned  him,  that  he 
had  divorced  the  second  after  she  iiad  borne  him  three 
children,  and  that  he  was  then  manied  to  a  tl)ird.  But 
if  Jesus  decided  in  favor  of  Shamniai— as  all  His  previous 
teaching  made  the  Pharisees  feel  sure  that  in  this  par- 
ticular question  He  icould  decide — then  He  would  be  pro- 
nouncing the  public  opinion  that  Herod  Antipas  was  a 
double-dyed  adulterer,  an  adulterer  adulterously  wedded 
to  an  adulterous  wife. 

But  Jesus  was  never  guided  in  any  of  His  answers  by 
principles  of  expediency,  and  was  decidedly  indifferent 
alike  to  the  anger  of  multitudes  and  to  the  tyrant's  frown. 
His  only  object  was  to  give,  even  to  such  inquirers  as  these, 
such  answers  as  sliouUi  elevate  tlieni  to  a  nobler  sphere. 
Their  axiom,  "Is  it  Imvful?"  had  it  been  sincere,  would 
have  involved  the  answer  to  their  own  question.  JSTothing 
is  lawful  to  any  man  who  doubts  its  lawfulness.  Jesus, 
therefore,  instead  of  answering  them,  directs  them  to  the 
source  where  the  true  answer  was  to  be  found.  Setting 
the  primitive  order  side  by  side  with  the  Mosaic  institution 
— meeting  their  "Is  it  lawfnl?"  with  "Have  ye  not 
read?" — He  reminds  them  that  God,  wlio  at  the  beginning 
had  made  man,  male  and  female,  had  thereby  signified  His 
will  that  marriage  should  be  the  closest  and  most  indis- 
soluble of  all  relationships — transcending  and  even,  if 
necessary,  superseding  all  the  rest. 

"Why,  then,"  they  ask — eager  to  entangle  Him  in  an 
opposition  to  "the  fiery  law" — "did  Moses  command  to 
give  a  writing  of  divorcement  and  put  her  away?"  The 
form  of  their  question  involved  one  of  those  false  turns  so 
common  among  the  worshipers  of  the  letter;  and  on  this 
false  turn  they  based  their  inverted  pyi'amid  or  yet  falser 
inferences.  And  so  Jesus  at  once  corrected  them  :  "  Moses, 
indeed,  for  your  hardheartedness  permitted  you  to  put 
away  your  wives;  but  from  the  beginning  it  was  not  so  ;" 
iind  then  He  adds  as  formal  and  fearless  a  condemnation 
of  Herod  Antipas  —  without  naming  him  —  as  could  have 
been  put  in  language,  "  Whoever  putteth  away  his  wife 
and  marrieth  another,  except  for  fornication,  committeth 
adultery;  and  he  who  marrieth  the  divorced  woman  com- 
mitteth adultery  :"  and  Herod's  case  was  the  worst  conceiv- 
able  instance   of    both    forms  of  adultery,  for   he,  while 


THE  LAST  STA  Y  IN  PERJSA.  351 

married  to  an  iimocent  and  uudivorced  wife,  had  wedded 
the  guilty  but  still  uudivorced  wife  of  Herod  Philip,  his 
own  brother  and  host ;  and  he  had  done  this,  without  the 
shadow  of  any  excuse,  out  of  mere  guilty  passion,  when 
his  own  prime  of  life  and  that  of  his  paramour  was  already 
past. 

If  the  Pharisees  chose  to  make  any  use  of  this  to  bring 
Jesus  into  collision  with  Antipas,  and  draw  down  u]3on 
Him  the  fate  of  John,  they  might ;  and  if  they  chose  to 
embitter  still  more  against  Him  the  schools  of  Hillel  and 
of  Shanimai,  iotli  of  which  were  thus  shown  to  be  mis- 
taken —  that  of  Hillel  from  deficiency  of  moral  insight, 
that  of  Shanimai  from  lack  of  exegetical  acumen  —  they 
might;  but  meanwhile  He  had  once  more  thrown  a  flood  of 
light  over  the  difficulties  of  the  Mosaic  legislation,  showing 
that  it  was  provisional,  not  final  —  transitory,  not  eternal. 
That  which  the  Jews,  following  their  famous  Hillel,  re- 
garded as  a  Divine  permission  of  which  to  be  proud,  was, 
on  the  contrary,  a  tolerated  evil  permitted  to  the  outward 
life,  though  not  to  the  enlightened  conscience  or  the  pure 
heart — was,  in  fact,  a  standing  witness  against  their  hard 
and  imperfect  state. 

The  Pharisees,  baffled,  perplexed,  ashamed  as  usual, 
found  themselves  again  confronted  by  a  transcendently 
loftier  wisdom,  and  a  transcendently  diviner  insight  than 
their  own,  and  retired  to  hatch  fresh  plots  equally  mali- 
cious, and  destined  to  be  equally  futile.  But  nothing  can 
more  fully  show  the  necessity  of  Christ's  teaching  than  the 
fact  that  even  the  disciples  were  startled  and  depressed  by 
it.  In  this  bad  age,  when  corruption  was  so  universal — 
when  in  Rome  marriage  had  fallen  into  such  contempt 
and  desuetude  that  a  law  had  to  be  passed  which  rendered 
celibates  liable  to  a  fine — they  thought  the  pure  strictness 
of  our  Lord's  precept  so  severe  that  celibacy  itself  seemed 
preferable ;  and  this  opinion  they  expressed  when  they 
were  once  more  with  Him  in  the  house.  What  a  fatal 
blow  would  have  been  given  to  the  world's  happiness  and 
the  world's  morality,  had  lie  assented  to  their  rash 
conclusion  !  And  how  marvelous  a  proof  is  it  of  His 
Divinity,  that  whereas  every  other  preeminent  moral 
teacher — even  the  very  best  and  greatest  of  all — has  uttered 
or  sanctioned  more  than  one  dangerous  and  deadly  error 


355  TIIK  LIFK  OF  (JIIUIST. 

which  h;i.s  been  potent  to  poison  the  life  or  peuce  of 
nations — all  the  words  of  tlie  Lord  Jesus  were  iibsolutely 
liol}',  and  tlivinely  healtliy  words.  In  Ilis  reply  He  gives 
none  of  that  entire  preference  to  celibacy  which  would 
have  been  so  highly  valued  by  the  ascetic  and  the  monk, 
and  would  have  troubled  the  consciences  of  many  millions 
whose  union  has  been  blessed  by  Heaven.  He  refused  to 
pronounce  upon  the  condition  of  the  celibate  so  absolute  a 
sanction.  All  that  he  said  was  that  this  saying  of  theirs 
as  to  theundesirability  of  marriage  had  no  such  unqualified 
bearing;  that  it  was  impossible  and  undesirable  for  all  but 
the  rare  and  exceptional  few.  Some,  indeed,  there  were 
who  were  unfitted  for  holy  wedlock  by  the  circumstances 
of  their  birth  or  constitution;  some,  again,  by  the  infamous, 
thougli  then  common,  cruelties  and  atrocities  of  the  domi- 
nant slavery;  and  some  who  withdrew  themselves  from  all 
thoughts  of  marriage  for  religious  purposes,  or  in  conse- 
quence of  higher  necessities.  These  were  not  better  than 
others,  but  only  d liferent.  It  was  the  duty  of  some  to 
marry  and  serve  God  in  the  wedded  state  ;  it  might  be  the 
duty  of  others  not  to  marry,  and  so  to  serve  God  in  the 
celibate  state.  There  is  not  in  these  words  of  Christ  all 
that  amount  of  difficulty  and  confusion  which  some  have 
seen  in  them.  His  precepts  find  their  best  comment  in 
the  7th  and  9th  chapters  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians,  and  His  clear  meaning  is  that,  besides  the 
rare  instances  of  natural  incapacity  for  marriage,  there  are 
a  few  others — and  to  these  few  alone  the  saying  of  the  dis- 
ciples applied — who  could  accept  the  belief  that  in  peculiar 
tifnes,  or  owing  to  special  circumdances,  or  at  tlie  para- 
mount call  of  exceptional  duties,  wedlock  must  by  them  be 
rightly  and  wisely  foregone,  because  they  had  received  from 
God  the  gift  and  grace  of  continence,  the  power  of  a  chaste 
life,  resulting  from  an  imagination  purified  and  ennobled 
to  a  particular  service. 

And  then,  like  a  touching  and  beautiful  comment  on  these 
high  words,  and  the  strongest  of  all  proofs  that  there  was 
in  the  mind  of  Christ  no  admiration  for  the  "  voluntary 
service"  which  St.  Paul  condemns,  and  the  "works  of 
supererogation"  which  an  erring  Church  upholds  —  as 
a  proof  of  His  belief  that  marriage  is  honorable  in  all,  and 
the   bed    undefiled  —  He    took    part   in    a  scene  that   has 


THE  LAST  ST  A  Y  TN  PKU^^A.  353 

chiirnied  tlie  imagination  of  poet  and  painter  in  every  age. 
For  as  though  to  destroy  all  false  and  unnatural  notions  of 
the  exceptional  glory  of  religious  virginity,  He,  among 
whose  earliest  acts  it  had  been  to  bless  a  marriage  festival, 
made  it  one  of  His  latest  acts  to  fondle  infants  in  His 
arms.  It  seems  to  have  been  known  in  Perfea  that  the 
time  of  His  departure  was  approaching;  and  conscious, 
perhaps,  of  the  words  wliich  He  had  Just  been  uttering, 
there  were  fathers  and  mothers  and  friends  who  brought 
to  Him  the  fruits  of  holy  wedlock — young  children  and 
even  babes  —  that  He  might  touch  them  and  pray  over 
them.  Ere  He  left  them  forever  they  would  bid  Him  a 
solemn  farewell ;  they  would  win,  as  it  were,  the  legacy  of 
His  special  blessing  for  the  generation  yet  to  come.  The 
disciples  thought  their  conduct  forward  and  officious. 
Tliey  did  not  wish  their  Master  to  be  needlessly  crowded 
and  "troubled  ;  they  did  not  like  to  be  disturbed  in  their 
high  colloquies.  They  were  indignant  that  a  number  of 
mere  women  and  children  should  come  obtruding  on  more 
important  persons  and  interests.  Women  were  not  hon- 
ored, nor  children  loved  in  antiquity  as  now  they  are  ;  no 
halo  of  romance  and  tenderness  encircled  them;  too  often 
they  were  subjected  to  shameful  cruelties  and  hard  neg- 
lect. But  He  who  came  to  be  the  friend  of  all  sinners, 
and  the  helper  of  all  the  suffering  and  the  sick,  came  also 
to  elevate  woman  to  her  due  honor,  centuries  before  the 
'J'eu tonic  element  of  modern  society  was  dreamed  of,  and 
to  be  the  protector  and  friend  of  helpless  infancy  and 
innocent  childhood.  Even  the  unconscious  little  ones 
were  to  be  admitted  into  His  Church  by  His  sacrament  of 
baptism,  to  be  made  members  of  Him,  and  inheritors  of 
His  kingdom.  He  turned  the  rebuke  of  the  disciples  on 
themselves;  He  was  as  much  displeased  with  them  as  they 
had  been  with  the  parents  and  children.  "Suffer  the 
little  children,"  He  said,  in  words  which  each  of  the 
Synoptists  had  preserved  for  us  in  all  their  immortal  ten- 
derness— "  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and 
forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
And  wheji  He  had  folded  them  in  His  arms,  laid  His 
hands  upon  them,  and  blessed  them.  He  added  once  more 
His  constantly  needed,  and  therefore  constantly  repeated, 
warning,  ''Whosoever  shall  not  receive  the  kingdom  of 
lieaven  as  a  little  child,  shall  not  enter  therein." 


354  TIIK  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

When  this  beautiful  and  deeply  instructive  scene  was 
over,  St.  Matthew  tells  us  that  He  started  on  His  wa}', 
probably  for  that  new  journey  to  the  other  Bethany  of 
which  we  shall  hear  in  the  next  chapter;  and  on  this  road 
occurred  another  incident,  which  impressed  itself  so  deeply 
on  the  minds  of  the  s))ectators  that  it,  too,  has  been  re- 
corded by  the  Evangelists  in  a  triple  narrative. 

A  young  man  of  great  wealth  and  high  position  seems 
suddenly  to  have  been  seized  with  a  conviction  that  he 
liad  hitherto  neglected  an  invaluable  opportunity,  and  that 
One  who  could  alone  explain  to  him  the  true  meaning  and 
mystery  of  life  was  already  on  His  way  to  depart  from 
among  them.  Determined,  therefore,  not  to  be  too  late, 
he  came  running,  breathless,  eager — in  a  way  that  surprised 
all  who  beheld  it — and,  prostrating  himself  before  the  feet 
of  Jesus,  exclaimed,  "  Good  Master,  what  good  thing  shall 
I  do  that  I  may  inherit  life?" 

If  there  was  something  attractive  in  the  mingled  im- 
petuosity and  humility  of  one  so  young  and  distinguished, 
yet  so  candid  and  earnest,  there  was  in  his  question  much 
that  was  objectionable.  The  notion  that  he  could  gain 
eternal  life  by  "  doing  some  good  thing,"  rested  on  a  basis 
radically  false.  If  we  may  combine  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  reading  of  St.  Matthew,  with  the  answer  recorded  in 
the  other  Evangelists,  our  Lord  seems  to  have  said  to 
him,  '*  Why  askest  thou  me  about  the  good  ?  and  why 
callest  thou  me  good  ?  One  is  the  good,  even  God."  He 
would  as  little  accept  the  title  "  Good  "  as  he  would  accept 
the  title  "Messiah,"  when  given  in  a  false  sense.  He 
would  not  be  regarded  as  that  mere  "good  Rabbi,"  to 
which,  in  these  days,  more  than  ever,  men  would  reduce 
Him.  So  far,  Jesus  would  show  the  youth  that  when  he 
come  to  Him  as  to  one  who  was  more  than  man,  his  entire 
address,  as  well  as  his  entire  question,  was  a  mistake.  No 
mere  man  can  lay  any  other  foundation  than  that  which  is 
laid,  and  if  the  ruler  committed  the  error  of  simply  admir- 
ing Jesus  as  a  Rai)bi  of  pre-eminent  sanctity,  yet  no 
Rabbi,  however  saintly,  was  accustomed  to  receive  the  title 
of  "  good,"  or  prescribe  any  amulet  for  the  preservation  of 
a  virtuous  life.  And  in  the  same  spirit.  He  continued  : 
"But  if  thou  wilt  enter  into  life,  keep  the  command- 
ments." 


THE  Last  sta  r  in  peRu^a.  355 

The  youth  had  not  expected  a.  reply  so  obvious  and  so 
simple.  He  cuuuot  believe  that  he  is  merely  referred  to 
the  Ten  Comniaiidnients,  and  so  he  asks,  in  surprise, 
'•  What  sort  of  couimandnients?''  Jesus,  as  tlie  youth 
wanted  to  do  sometiiiug,  tells  him  merely  of  those  of  the 
Second  Table,  for,  as  lias  been  well  remarked,  "  Christ 
sends  the  proud  to  the  Laiv,  and  invites  the  humble  to  the 
Gospel."  "  Master,"  replied  the  young  man  in  surprise, 
"all  these  have  I  observed  from  my  youth."  Doubtless 
in  the  mere  letter  he  niay  have  done  so,  as  millions  have; 
but  he  evidently  knew  little  of  all  that  those  command- 
ments had  been  interpreted  by  the  Christ  to  mean.  And 
Jesus,  seeing  his  sincerity,  looking  on  him  loved  him,  and 
gave  him  one  short  crucial  test  of  his  real  condition.  He 
was  not  content  with  the  commonplace  ;  he  aspired  after 
the  heroical,  or  rather  tJiouyht  tliat  he  did;  therefore  Jesus 
gave  him  an  heroic  act  to  do.  "One  thing,"  he  said, 
"  thou  lackest,"  and  bade  him  go,  sell  all  that  he  had,  dis- 
tribute it  to  the  ])oor,  and  come  and  follow  Him. 

It  was  too  mnch.  The  young  ruler  went  away,  very 
sorrowful  grief  in  his  heart,  and  a  cloud  upon  his  brow, 
for  he  had  gieat  possessions.  He  preferred  the  comforts 
of  earth  to  the  treasures  of  heaven,  he  would  not  purchase 
the  things  of  eternity  by  abandoning  those  of  time  ;  he 
made,  as  Dante  calls  it,  "  the  great  refusal."  And  so  he 
vanishes  from  the  Gospel  history ;  nor  do  the  Evangelists 
know  anything  of  hini  further.  But  the  sad,  stern  im- 
agination of  the  poet  follows  him,  and  there,  among  the 
myriads  of  those  who  are  blown  about  like  autumn  leaves 
on  the  confines  of  the  outer  world,  blindly  following 
the  flutter  of  a  giddy  flag,  rejected  by  Heaven,  despised 
even  by  hell,  hateful  alike  to  God  and  to  his  enemies,  he 
sees 

"I'ombra  di  colui 
Che  fece  per  viltate  il  gran  rifiuto." 

Dante,  Inferno,  iii.  60. 

(The  shade  of  l^im  who  made  through  cowardice  the  great 
refusal.) 

We  may — I  had  almost  said  we  must — hope  and  believe 
a  fairer  ending  for  one  whom  Jesus,  as  He  looked  on  him, 
could  love.     But  the  failure  of    this  youth    to  meet  the 


850  THE  LIFE  OF  CinUST. 

test  saddened  Jesus,  and  looking  round  at  His  disciples, 
He  said,  "  How  hardly  shall  they  that  liave  riches  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  The  words  once  more 
struck  them  as  very  severe.  Could  then  no  good  man  be  rich, 
no  rich  man  be  good  ?  But  Jesus  only  answered — soften- 
ing the  sadness  and  sternness  of  the  words  by  the  affection- 
ate title  "  children  " — "  Children,  how  hard  it  is  to  enter  in- 
to the  kingdorii  of  God  ;"  hard  for  any  one,  but  He  added, 
with  an  earnest  look  at  His  disciples,  and  specially  ad- 
dressing Peter,  as  tlie  Gospel  according  to  the  Hebrews 
tells  US,  "  It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of 
a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
God."  They  might  well  be  amazed  beyond  measure.  Was 
there  then  no  hope  for  a  Nicodemus,  for  a  Joseph  of  Ari- 
matha?a  ?  Assuredly  there  was.  The  teaching  of  Jesus 
about  riches  was  as  little  Ebionite  as  His  teaching  about 
Tnarriage  was  Essene.  Things  impossible  to  nature  are 
possible  to  gi-ace;  things  impossible  to  man  are  easy  to  God. 
Then,  with  a  touch — was  it  of  complacency,  or  was  it  of 
despair  ? — Peter  said,  "  Lo,  we  have  forsaken  all  and  fol- 
lowed Thee,"  and  either  added  or  implied.  In  what  respect, 
then,  shall  we  be  gainers?  The  answer  of  Jesus  was  at 
once  a  magnificent  encoui'agement  aiid  a  solemn  warning. 
The  encouragement  was  that  there  was  no  instance  of  self- 
sacrifice  which  would  not,  even  in  this  world,  and  even  in 
the  midst  of  persecutions,  receive  its  hundred-fold  increase 
in  the  harvest  of  spiritual  blessings,  and  would  in  the  world 
to  come  be  rewarded  by  the  infinite  recompense  of  eternal 
life;  the  warning  was  that  familiar  one  which  they  had 
heard  before,  that  many  of  the  first  should  be  last,  and 
the  last  first.  And  to  impress  upon  them  still  moi-e  fully 
and  deeply  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  not  a  matter  of 
mercenary  calculation  or  exact  equivalent — that  there  could 
be  no  bargainirig  with  the  Ileaveiily  Householder — that 
before  the  eye  of  God's  clearer  and  more  })pnetrating  judg- 
ment Gentiles  miglit  be  admitted  before  Jews,  and  Publi- 
cans before  Pharisees,  and  young  converts  before  aged. 
Apostles — He  told  them  the  memorable  Parable  of  the  La- 
borers in  the  Vineyard.  That  parable,  amid  its  other  les- 
sons, involved  the  truth  that,  vv-liile  all  who  serve  God 
should  not  be  d'efrauded  of  their  just  and  full  and  rich  re- 
ward, there  could  be  in  heaven  no  muj-muring,  no  envy- 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS.  357 

iiigs,  no  jealous  comparison  of  respective  merits,  no  base 
stragglings  for  precedency,  no  miserable  disputings  as  to 
wiio  had  performed  the  maximum  of  service  or  who  bad 
received  the  minimum  of  grace. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE    KAISING    OF   LAZARUS. 

These  farewell  interviews  and  teachings  perhaps  belong 
to  the  two  days  after  Jesus  — while  still  in  the  Perfeati 
Bethany— had  received  from  the  other  Betluiny,  where  He 
had  so  often  found  a  home,  the  solemn  message  that  "he 
-whom  He  loved  was  sick."  Lazarus  was  the  one  intimate 
personal  friend  whom  Jesus  possessed  outside  the  circle  of 
His  apostles,  and  the  urgent  message  was  evidently  an  ap- 
peal for  the  presence  of  Him  in  whose  presence,  so  far  as 
we  know,  there  had  never  been  a  deatii-bed  scene. 

But  Jesus  did  not  come.  He  contented  Himself,  occu- 
pied as  He  was  in  important  works,  with  sending  them 
the  message  that  '•  this  sickness  was  not  to  death,  but  for 
the  glory  of  God,"  and  stayed  two  days  longer  where  He 
was.  And  at  the  end  of  tliose  two  days  He  said  to  His 
disciples,  "  Let  us  go  into  Judaea  again."  T'he  disciples 
reminded  Him  how  lately  the  Jews  had  there  sought  to 
stone  Him,  and  asked  Him  how  He  could  venture  to  go 
there  again;  but  His  answer  was  that  during  the  twelve 
hours  of  His  day  of  work  He  could  walk  in  safety,  for 
the  light  of  His  duty,  which  was  the  will  of  His  Heav- 
enly Father,  would  keep  Him  from  danger.  And  then  He 
told  them  that  Lazarus  slept,  and  that  He  was  going  to  wake 
him  out  of  sleep.  Three  of  them  at  least  must  have  re- 
membered how,  on  another  memorable  occasion.  He  liad 
spoken  of  death  as  sleep;  but  either  they  were  silent  and 
others  spoke,  or  they  were  too  slow  of  heart  to  remember 
it.  As  they  understood  Him  to  speak  of  natural  sleep, 
He  had  to  tell  them  plainly  that  Lazarus  was  dead,  and 
that  He  was  glad  of  it  for  their  sakes,  for  that  He  would 
go  to  restore  him  to  life.  '*  Let  us  also  go,"  said  the  af- 
fectionate but  ever  despondent  Tliouias.  "  that  we  may  die 
with  llim"— as  though  he  had  said,  "It  is  all  a  useless 
and  perilous  scheme,  but  still  let  us  go." 


358  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Starting  early  in  the  morning,  Jesns  could  easily  have 
accomplished  the  distance  —  some  twenty  miles  —  before 
sunset.  But  on  llis  ai'rival,  He  stayed  outside  the  little 
village.  Its  vicinity  to  Jerusalem,  from  which  it  is  not 
two  miles  distant,  and  the  evident  wealth  and  position  of 
the  family,  had  attracted  a  large  concourse  of  distinguished 
Jews  to  console  and  mourn  with  tlie  sisters;  and  it  was  ob- 
viously desirable  to  act  with  cautioa  in  venturing  among 
such  determined  enemies.  But  while  Mary,  true  to  her 
retiring  and  contemplative  disposition,  was  sitting  in  the 
house,  unconscious  of  her  Lord's  approach,  the  more 
active  Martha  had  received  intelligence  that  He  was  near 
at  hand,  and  immediately  wont  forth  to  meet  Him. 
Lazarus  had  died  on  the  very  day  that  Jesus  received  the 
message  of  his  illness ;  two  days  had  elapsed  while  he 
lingered  in  Pera^a,  a  fourth  had  been  spent  on  the  journey. 
Martha  could  not  understand  this  sad  delay.  "  Lord," 
she  said,  in  tones  gently  reproachful,  "if  Thou  hadst 
been  here  my  brother  had  not  died,"  yet  "even  now" 
she  seems  to  indulge  the  vague  hope  that  some  alleviation 
may  be  vouchsafed  to  their  bereavement.  The  few  words 
which  follow  are  words  of  most  memorable  import  —  a 
declaration  of  Jesus  which  has  brought  comfort  not  to 
Martha  only,  but  to  millions  since,  and  which  shall  do  to 
millions  more  unto  the  world's  end  : 

"  Thy  brother  shall  rise  again." 

Martha  evidently  had  not  dreamed  that  he  would  now  be 
awaked  from  the  sleep  of  death,  and  she  could  only 
answer,  "I  know  that  he  shall  rise  again  in  the  resur- 
rection at  the  last  day." 

Jesus  said   unto  her,   "  I  am  the  RESURRECTioisr  and 

THE  LIFE  :    HE  THAT  BELIEVETH  ON  ME,  THOUGH  HE  HAVE 
DIED,  SHALL  LIVE  ;  AND  HE  THAT  LIVETH  AND  BELIEVETH 

ON  Me  shall  NEVER  DIE.     Believest  thou  this  ?" 

It  was  not  for  a  spirit  like  Martha's  to  distinguish  the 
interchanging  thoughts  of  physical  and  spiritual  death 
which  were  united  in  that  deep  utterance  :  but,  without 
pausing  to  fathom  it,  her  faithful  love  supplied  the 
answer,  "  Yea,  Lord,  I  believe  that  thou  art  the  Christ, 
the  Sou  of  God,  which  should  come  into  the  world." 

Having  uttered  that  great  confession,  she  at  once  went 
in   quest  of  her  sister,    about   whom   Jesus  had  already 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS.  359 

inquired,  and  whose  heart  and  intellect,  as  Martha  seemed 
instinctively  to  feel,  were  better  adapted  to  embrace  such 
lofty  truths.     She  found  Mary  in  the  house,  and  both  the 
secrecy  with  which  she  delivered   her  message,  and   the 
haste  and  silence  with   wiiich  Mary  arose  to  go  and  meet 
her  Lord,  show  that  precaution  was  needed,  and  that  the 
visit  of  Jesus  had  not  been   unaccompanied   with   danger. 
The  Jews  who  were  comforting  her,  and  whom  she  had 
thus  suddenly  left,  rose  to  follow  her  to  the  tomb  whither 
they  thought  that  she  had  gone  to  weep  ;  but  they  soon 
saw  the  real  object  of  her  movement.     Outside  the  village 
they  found   Jesus  surrounded   by    His  friends,  and  they 
saw  Mary  hurry  up  to  Him,  and  fling  herself  at  His  feet 
with  the  same  agonizing  reproach  which  her  sister  also  had 
used,  "  Lord,  if  Thou  hadst  been  here  my  brother  had 
not  died."     The  greater  intensity  of  her  emotion  spoke  in 
her   fewer   words   and    her    greater   self-abandonment  of 
anguish,  and  she  could  add  no  more.     It  may  be  that  her 
affection  was  too  deep  to  permit  her  hope  to  be  so  sanguine 
as  that  of  her  sister  ;  it  may  be  that  with  humbler  rever- 
ence she  left  all  to  her  Lord.     The  sight  of  all  that  love 
and  misery,  the  pitiable  spectacle  of  human  bereavement, 
the  utter  futility  at  such  a  moment  of  human  consolation, 
the  shrill  commingling  of  a  hired  and  simulated  lamen- 
tation   with    all    this    genuine    anguish,    the    unspoken 
reproach,   "  Oh,  why  didst  Thou  not  come  at  once  and 
snatch  the  victim  from   the  enemy,  and  spare  Thy  friend 
from    the   sting   of  death,  and   us   from    the  more  bitter 
sting  of  such  a  parting  ?" — all  these  influences  touched  the 
tender  compassion  of  Jesus  with  deep  emotion.     A  strong 
effort  of  self-repression  was  needed — an  effort  which  shook 
his   whole   frame    with    a  powerful   shudder — before    He 
could  find  words  to  speak,  and  then  He  could  merely  ask, 
"Where   have  ye  laid  him?"     They  said,  ''Lord,  come 
and  see."     As  He  followed  them  His  eyes  were  streaming 
with  silent  tears.    His  tears  were  not  unnoticed,  and  while 
some  of  the  Jews  observed   with  respectful  sympathy  this 
proof  of  His  affection  for  the  dead,   others  were  asking 
dubiously^  perhaps   almost   sneeringly,    whether   He  who 
had  opened  the  eyes  of  the  blind  could  not  have  saved  His 
friend  from  death  ?     They  had  not  heard  how,  in  the  far- 
off  village  of  Galilee,  he  had  raised  the  dead  3  but  they 


360  THhJ  LIFK  OF  CHRIST. 

knew  that  in  Jerusalem  He  had  opened  the  eyes  of  one 
born  blind,  and  that  seemed  to  them  a  miracle  no  less 
stupendous.  But  Jesus  knew  and  heard  their  comments, 
and  once  more  the  whole  scene — its  genuine  sorrows,  its 
hired  mourners,  its  uncalmed  hatreds,  all  concentrated 
around  the  ghastly  work  of  death — came  so  powerfully 
over  His  spirit,  that,  though  He  knew  that  He  was  going 
to  wake  the  dead,  once  more  His  whole  being  v/as  swept 
by  a  storm  of  emotion.  Tlie  grave,  like  most  of  the 
graves  belonging  to  the  wealthier  Jews,  was  a  recess  carved 
horizontally  in  the  rock,  with  a  slab  or  mass  of  stone  to 
close  the  entrance.  Jesus  bade  them  remove  i\\\&  golal,  as 
it  was  called.  Then  Martha  interposed — partly  from  con- 
viction that  the  soul  had  now  utterly  departed  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  moldering  body,  partly  afraid  in  her 
natural  delicacy  of  the  shocking  spectacle  which  the 
removal  of  that  stone  would  reveal.  For  in  that  hot 
climate  it  is  necessary  that  burial  should  follow  imme- 
diately upon  death,  and  as  it  was  the  evening  of  the  fourth 
day  since  Lazarus  had  died,  there  was  too  much 
reason  to  fear  that  by  this  time  decomposition  had 
set  in.  Solemnly  Jesus  reminded  her  of  His  promise, 
and  tlie  stone  was  moved  from  the  place  where  the  dead 
was  laid.  He  stood  at  the  entrance,  and  all  others  shrank 
a  little  backward,  with  their  eyes  still  fixed  on  that  dark 
and  silent  cave.  A  hush  fell  upon  them  all  as  Jesus  raised 
His  eyes  and  thanked  God  for  tlie  coming  confirmation  of 
His  prayer.  And  then,  raising  to  its  clearest  tones  that 
voice  oi'  awful  and  sonorous  authority,  and  uttering,  as 
was  usual  with  Him  on  such  occasions,  the  briefest  words, 
He  cried,  "Lazarus,  come  forth!"  Those  words 
thrilled  once  more  through  that  region  of  impenetrable 
darkness  which  separates  us  from  the  world  to  come;  and 
scarcely  were  they  spoken  when,  like  a  specter,  from  the 
rocky  tomb  issued  a  figure,  swathed  indeed  in  its  white 
and  ghastly  cerements — with  the  napkin  round  the  head 
which  had  upheld  the  jaw  that  four  days  previously  had 
dropped  in  death,  bound  hand  and  foot  and  face,  but  not 
livid,  not  horrible — the  figure  of  a  youth  with  the  healthy 
blood  of  a  restored  life  flowing  through  his  veins  ;  of  a 
life  restoi-ed — so  tradition  tells  us — for  thirty  more  long 
years  to  life,  and  light,  and  love. 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS.  3G1 

Let  us  pause  here  to  auswer  the  not  unnatural  question 
us  to  the  silence  of  the  Synoptists  respecting  tliis  great 
miracle.  To  treat  the  subject  fully  would  indeed  be  to 
write  a  long  disquisition  on  the  structure  of  the  Gospels; 
and  after  all  we  could 'assign  no  final  explaiuition  to  their 
obvious  difficulties.  The  Gospels  are,  of  their  very  nature, 
confessedly  and  designedly  fragmentary,  and  it  may  be 
regarded  as  all  but  certain  that  the  first  three  were  mainly 
derived  from  a  common  oral  tradition,  or  founded  on  one 
or  two  original,  and  themselves  fragmentary,  documents. 
The  Synoptists  almost  confine  themselves  to  the  Galilaean, 
and  St.  John  to  the  Judasan  ministry,  though  the  Synop- 
tists distinctly  allude  to  and  presuppose  tiie  ministry  in 
Jerusalem,  and  St.  John  the  ministry  in  Galilee.  Not  one 
of  the  four  Evangelists  proposes  for  a  moment  to  give 
an  exhaustive  account,  or  even  catalogue  of  the  parables, 
discourses,  and  miracles  of  Jesus;  nor  was  it  the  object  of 
either  of  them  to  write  a  complete  luirrative  of  His  three 
and  a  half  years  of  public  life.  Each  of  them  relates  the 
incidents  which  came  most  immediately  within  his  own 
scope,  and  were  best  known  to  him  either  by  personal  witness, 
by  isolated  written  documents,  or  by  oral  tradition;  and  each 
of  them  tells  enough  to  show  tliat  He  was  the  Christ,  the 
Son  of  the  Living  God,  the  Saviour  of  tlie  world.  Now, 
since  the  raising  of  Lazarus  would  not  seem  to  them  a 
greater  exercise  of  miractiloiis  power  than  otiiei's  which 
they  had  recorded  (John  xi.  37) — since,  as  has  well  been 
said,  no  senieioineter  had  been  then  invented  to  test  the 
relative  greatness  of  miracles  —  and  since  this  miracle  fell 
within  the  Juda?an  cycle  —  it  does  not  seem  at  all  more  in- 
explicable tluit  they  should  have  omitted  this,  than  that 
they  should  have  omitted  the  miracle  at  Bethesda,  or  the 
opening  of  the  eyes  of  him  who  had  been  born  blind. 
But  further  than  this,  we  seem  to  trace  in  the  Synoptists 
a  special  reticence  about  the  family  at  Bethany.  The 
iiouse  in  which  they  take  a  prominent  position  is  called 
"  the  house  of  Simon  the  leper;"  Mary  is  called  simply  "a 
woman"  by  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Mark  (Matt.  xxvi.  6,  7; 
Mark  xiv.  3);  ami  St.  Luke  contents  himself  with  calling 
Bethany  "a  certain  village"  (Luke  x.  38),  although  he 
was  i)erfectly  aware  of  the  iiamn  (Luke  xix.  20).  There  is, 
therefore,  a  (listinct  argument  for  the  conjecture  that  when 


36;;>  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  earliest  form  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew  appeared, 
and  when  the  memorials  were  collected  which  were  used 
by  the  other  two  Synoptists,  there  may  have  been  special 
reasons  for  not  recording  a  miracle  which  would  have 
brought  into  dangerous  prominence  a  man  who  was  still 
living,  but  of  whom  the  Jews  had  distinctly  sought  to  get 
rid  as  a  witness  of  Clirist's  wonder-working  power  (John 
xii.  10).  Even  if  this  danger  had  ceased,  it  would  have 
been  obviously  repulsive  to  the  quiet  family  of  Bethany  to 
have  been  made  the  focus  of  au  intense  and  irreverent 
curiosity,  and  to  be  questioned  about  tliose  hidden  things 
which  none  have  ever  revealed.  Something,  tlien,  seems 
to  have  "sealed  the  lips"  of  those  Evangelists  —  an 
obstacle  which  had  been  long  removed  when  St.  John's 
Gospel  first  saw  the  light. 

•■'  If  they  believe  not  Moses  and  the  Prophets"  —  so  ran 
the  answer  of  Abraham  to  Dives  in  the  parable —  "  neither 
will  they  be  converted  though  one  (and  this,  too,  a  Laza- 
rus!) rose  from  the  dead."  It  was  even  so.  There  were 
many  witnesses  of  this  miracle  who  believed  when  they 
saw  it,  bat  theie  were  others  who  could  only  carry  an 
angry  and  alarmed  account  of  it  to  the  Sanhedrin  at 
Jerusalem. 

The  Sanhedrin  met  in  a  spirit  of  hatred  and  perplexity. 
They  could  not  deny  the  miracle  ;  they  luould  not  believe 
on  Him  who  had  performed  it;  they  could  oidy  dread  His 
growing  influence  and  conjecture  that  it  would  be  used  to 
make  Himself  a  king,  and  so  end  in  Roman  intervention 
and  the  annihilation  of  their  political  existence.  And  as 
they  vainly  raged  in  impotent  counsels,  Joseph  Caiaphas 
rose  to  address  them.  He  was  the  civil  High  Priest,  and 
held  the  office  eleven  years,  from  a.d.  25,  when  Valerius 
Gratus  placed  him  in  it,  till  a.d.  36,  when  Vitellius 
turned  him  out.  A  large  share  indeed  of  the  honor 
which  belonged  to  his  position  had  been  transferred  to 
Ananus,  Annas — or  to  give  him  his  true  Jewish  name, 
Hanan — who  had  simply  been  deprived  of  the  High  Priest- 
hood by  Roman  authority,  and  who  (as  we  shall  see  here- 
after) was  perhaps  the  Nasi  or  Sagan,  and  was,  at  any 
rate,  regarded  as  being  the  real  High  Priest  by  the  stricter 
Jews.  Caiaphas,  however,  was  at  this  time  nominally  and 
ostensibly  High  Priest,     As -such  he  was  supposed  to  have 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS.  363 

the  gift  of  prophecy  which  was  still  believed  to  linger 
faintly  in  the  persons  of  the  descendants  of  Aaron,  after 
the  total  disappearance  of  dreams,  TJrini,  omens,  prophets, 
and  Bath  K61,  which,  in  descending  degrees,  had  been  the 
ordinary  means  of  ascertaining  the  will  of  God.  And  thus 
when  Caiaphas  rose,  and  with  shameless  avowal  of  a  policy 
most  flagitiously  selfish  and  unjust,  haughtily  told  the 
Sanhedrin  that  all  their  proposals  were  mere  ignorance, 
and  that  the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  sacrifice  one 
victim  —  innocent  or  guilty  he  did  not  stop  to  inquire  or 
to  define  —  one  victim  for  the  whole  people  —  ay,  and,  St. 
John  adds,  not  for  that  nation  only,  but  for  all  God's 
children  scattered  throughout  the  woi'ld — they  accepted  un- 
hesitatingly that  voice  of  unconscious  prophecy.  And  by 
accepting  it  they  filled  to  the  brim  the  cup  of  their  iniquity, 
and  incurred  the  crime  which  drew  upon  their  guilty  heads 
the  very  catastrophe  which  it  was  committed  to  avert.  It 
was  this  Moloch  worship  of  worse  than  human  sacrifice 
which,  as  in  the  days  of  Manasseh,  doomed  them  to  a 
second  and  a  more  terrible,  and  a  more  enduring  destruc- 
tion. There  were  some,  indeed,  who  were  not  to  be  found  on 
that  Hill  of  Evil  Counsel,  or  who,  if  present,  consented 
not  to  the  counsel  or  will  of  them;  but  from  that  day 
forth  the  secret  fiat  had  been  issued  that  Jesus  must  be 
put  to  death.  Henceforth  He  was  living  with  a  price  upon 
His  head. 

And  that  fiat,  however  originally  secret,  became  instantly 
known.  Jesus  was  not  ignorant  of  it ;  and  for  the  last  few 
weeks  of  His  earthly  existence,  till  the  due  time  had 
brought  round  the  Passover  at  which  He  meant  to  lay 
down  His  life,  He  retired  in  secret  to  a  little  obscure  city, 
near  the  wilderness,  called  Ephraim.  There,  safe  from 
all  the  tumults  and  machinations  of  His  deadly  enemies. 
He  spent  calmly  and  happily  those  last  few  weeks  of  rest, 
surrounded  only  by  His  disciples,  and  training  them,  in 
that  peaceful  seclusion,  for  the  mighty  work  of  thrusting 
their  sickles  into  the  ripening  harvests  of  the  world.  None, 
or  few  besides  that  faithful  band,  knew  of  His  hiding  place  ; 
for  the  Pharisees,  when  they  found  themselves  unable  to 
conceal  their  designs,  had  published  an  order  that  if  any 
man  knew  where  He  was,  he  was  to  reveal  it,  that  they 
might  seize  Him,  if  necessary  even  by  violence,  and  ex- 


3G4  THE  LIFE  OF  CUlilST. 

ecute  the  decision  at  which  they  hud  urrived.    But,  as  yet, 
the  bribe  had  no  elTect. 

How  long  this  deep  and  niuch-iniperilled  retirement 
Listed  we  are  not  tohi,  nor  can  we  lift  the  veil  of  silence 
that  has  fallen  over  its  records.  If  the  decision  at  which 
the  Betli  Din  in  the  house  of  Caiaphas  had  arrived  was  re- 
garded as  a  formal  sentence  of  death,  then  it  is  not  im- 
possible that  these  scrupulous  legists  may  have  suffered 
I'orty  days  to  elapse  for  the  production  of  witnesses  in 
favor  of  the  accused.  But  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  the 
destruction  intended  for  Jesus  was  not  meant  to  be  carried 
out  in  a  manner  more  secret  and  more  summary,  bearing 
the  aspect  rather  of  a  violent  assassination  than  of  a  legal 
judgment. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

JERICHO    AND    BETHANY. 


Feom  the  conical  hill  of  Ephraim  Jesus  could  see  the 
pilgrim  bands  as,  at  the  api)roach  of  the  Passover,  they 
began  to  sti'eam  down  the  Jordan  valley  toward  Jerusalem, 
to  purify  themselves  from  every  ceremonial  defilement  be- 
fore the  commencement  of  the  Great  Feast.  The  time  had 
come  for  Him  to  leave  His  hiding-place,  and  He  descended 
from  Ephraim  to  the  iiigh  road  in  order  to  join  the  gi'eat 
caravan  of  Galila3an  pilgrims. 

And  as  He  turned  His  back  on  the  little  town,  and 
began  the  journey  which  was  to  end  at  Jerusalem,  a 
prophetic  solemnity  and  elevation  of  soul  struggling  with 
the  natural  anguish  of  the  flesh,  which  shrank  from  that 
great  sacrifice,  pervaded  His  whole  being,  and  gave  a  new 
and  strange  grandeur  to  every  gesture  and  every  look.  It 
was  the  Transfiguration  of  JSelf-sacriflce  ;  and  like  that  pre- 
vious Transfiguration  of  Glory,  it  filled  tiiose  who  beheld  it 
with  an  amazement  and  terror  which  they  could  not  explain. 
There  are  few  pictures  in  the  Gospel  more  sti'iking  than 
this  of  Jesus  going  forth  to  His  death,  and  walking  alone 
along  the  path  into  the  deep  valley,  while  behind  Him 
in  av.ful  reverence,  and  mingled  anticipations  of  dread 
and  hope— their  eyes  tixed  on  Him,  as  with  bowed  head  He 


JEUICHO  AND  BFA'HANT.  3G5 

preceded  them  in  all  the  majesty  of  sorrow — the  disciples 
walked  behind  and  dared  not  disturb  His  meditations. 
But  at  last  He  paused  and  beckoned  them  to  Him,  and 
then,  once  more — for  the  third  time — with  fuller,  clearer, 
more  startling,  more  terrible  particulars  than  ever  before, 
He  told  them  that  He  should  be  betrayed  to  the  Priests 
and  Scribes;  by  them  condemned;  then  handed  over  to  the 
Gentiles;  by  the  Gentiles  mocked,  scourged,  and — He  now 
for  the  first  time  revealed  to  them,  wiihout  any  ambiguity, 
the  crowning  horror  —  crucified ;  and  that,  on  the  third 
day,  He  should  rise  again.  But  their  minds  v,'ere  full  of 
Messianic  hopes;  they  were  so  preoccupied  with  the  convic- 
tion that  now  the  kingdom  of  God  was  to  come  in  all  its 
splendor,  that  the  prophecy  passed  by  them  like  the  idle 
wind;  they  could  not,  and  would  not,  understand. 

There  can  be  no  more  striking  comment  on  their  inabil- 
ity to  realize  the  meaning  of  what  Jesus  had  said  to  them, 
than  the  fact  that  very  shortly  after,  and  during  thf  same 
journey,  occnrred  the  ill-timed  and  strangely  nuspiritual 
request  which  the  Evangelists  proceed  to  record.  With  an 
air  of  privacy  and  mystery,  Salome,  one  of  the  constant 
attendants  of  Jesus,  with  her  two  sons,  James  and  John, 
who  were  among  the  most  eminent  of  His  apostles,  came 
to  him  with  adorations,  and  begged  Him  to  promise  them 
a  favor.  He  asked  what  they  wislied  ;  and  then  the 
mother,  speaking  for  her  fervent-hearted,  ambitious  sons, 
begged  that  in  His  kingdom  they  might  sit,  the  one  at  His 
right  hand,  and  the  other  at  His  left.  Jesus  bore  gently 
Avith  their  selfishness  and  error.  They  had  asked  in  their 
blindness  for  that  position  which,  but  a  few  days  after- 
Avard,  they  were  to  see  occupied  in  shame  and  anguish 
by  the  two  crucified  robbers.  Their  imaginations  were 
haunted  by  twelve  thrones  ;  His  thoughts  were  of  three 
crosses.  They  dreamed  of  earthly  crowns  ;  He  told  them 
of  a  cup  of  bitterness  and  a  baptism  of  blood.  Could  they 
indeed  drink  with  Him  of  tha"t  cup,  and  be  baptized  with 
that  baptism  ?  Understanding  perhaps  more  of  His 
meaning  now,  they  yet  boldly  answered,  "  We  can  ;"  and 
then  He  told  them  that  they  "indeed  tihould  do  so,  but  tliat 
to  sit  on  His  right  hand  and  on  His  left  was  reserved  for 
those  for  whom  it  had  been  prepared  by  His  Heavenly 
Father.     The  throne,  says  Basil,  "  is  the  price  of  toils,  not 


366  TtlK  LIFE  OF  CIIRTST. 

a  grace  granted  to  ambition;  a  reward  of  righteousness,  not 
the  concession  of  a  request." 

The  ten,  when  they  heard  the  incident,  were  naturally 
indignant  at  this  secret  attempt  of  the  two  brothers  to 
secure  for  themselves  a  pre-eminence  of  honor ;  little 
knowing  that,  so  far  as  earth  was  concerned — and  of  this 
alone  they  dreamed — that  premium  of  honor  should  only 
be,  for  the  one  a  precedence  in  martyrdom,  for  the  other  a 
prolongation  of  suffering.  This  would  be  revealed  to  them 
in  due  time,  but  even  now  Jesus  called  them  all  togetlier, 
and  taught  them,  as  He  had  so  often  taught  them,  that 
the  highest  honor  is  won  by  the  deepest  linmility.  The 
shadowy  principalities  of  earth  were  characterized  by  the 
semblance  of  a  little  brief  authority  over  their  fellow-men; 
it  was  natural  for  them  to  lord  it,  and  tyrannize  it  over 
their  fellows:  but  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven  the  lord  of  all 
should  be  the  servant  of  all,  even  as  the  highest  Lord  had 
spent  His  very  life  in  the  lowest  ministrations,  and  was 
about  to  give  it  as  a  ransom  for  many. 

As  they  advanced  toward  Jericho,  through  the  scorched 
and  treeless  Ghor,  the  crowd  of  attendant  pilgrims  grew 
more  and  more  dense  about  Him.  It  was  either  the  even- 
ing of  Thursday,  Nisaii  7,  or  the  morning  of  Friday,  Nisan 
8,  when  they  reached  the  environs  of  that  famous  city — 
the  city  of  fragrance,  the  city  of  roses,  the  city  of  palm- 
trees,  the  "paradise  of  God."  It  is  now  a  miserable  and 
degraded  Arab  village,  but  was  then  a  prosperous  and 
populous  town,  standing  on  a  green  and  flowery  oasis,  rich 
in  honey  and  leaf -honey,  and  myrobalanum,  and  well- 
watered  by  the  Fountain  of  Elisha  and  by  other  abundant 
springs.  Somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  town  sat  blind 
Bartimseus,  the  son  of  Timaeus,  begging  with  a  companion 
of  his  misery ;  and  as  they  heard  the  noise  of  the  passing 
multitude,  and  were  told  that  it  was  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
who  was  passing  by,  they  raised  their  voices  in  the  cry, 
"Jesus,  Thou  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  on  us."  The 
multitude  resented  this  loud  clamor  as  unworthy  of  the 
majesty  of  Him  who  was  now  to  enter  Jerusalem  as  the 
Messiah  of  His  nation.  But  Jesus  heard  the  cry,  and  His 
compassionate  heart  was  touched.  He  stood  still,  and 
ordered  them  to  be  called  to  Him.  Then  the  obsequious 
throng  alter  their  tone,  and  say  to  Bartimasus,  who  is  so 


jmiCHO  AND  BETHANY.  36"/ 

much  the  more  prominent  in  the  narrative  that  two  of  the 
Synoptists  do  not  even  mention  his  companion  at  all — 
"Be  of  good  cheer;  rise.  He  calleth  thee."  With  a  burst 
of  hasty  joy,  flinging  away  his  abha,  he  leaped  up,  and  was 
led  to  Jesus.  "  What  wiliest  thou  that  I  should  do  for 
thee?"  "  Rabboni,"  he  answered  (giving  Jesus  the  most 
reverential  title  that  he  knew),  "  that  1  may  recover  my 
sight."  "  Go,"  said  Jesus,  "  thy  faith  hatl/saved  thee." 
He  touched  the  eyes  both  of  him  and  of  his  companion, 
and  with  recovered  sight  they  followed  among  the  rejoic- 
ing multitudes,  glorifying  God. 

It  was  necessary  to  rest  at  Jericho  before  entering  on 
the  dangerous,  rocky,  robber-haunted  gorge  which  led  from 
it  to  Jerusalem,  and  formed  a  rough,  almost  continuous, 
ascent  of  six  hours,  fi'om  600  feet  below  to  nearly  3,000 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  two  most 
distinctive  classes  of  Jericho  were  priests  and  publicans; 
and,  as  it  was  a  priestly  city,  it  might  naturally  have  been 
expected  that  the  king,  the  son  of  David,  the  successor  of 
Moses,  would  be  received  in  the  house  of  some  descendant 
of  Aaron.  But  the  place  where  Jesus  chose  to  rest  was 
determined  by  other  circumstances.  A  colony  of  publicans 
was  established  in  the  city  to  secure  the  revenues  accruing 
from  the  large  traffic  in  a  kind  of  balsam,  which  grew  more 
luxuriantly  there  than  in  any  other  place,  and  to  regulate 
the  exports  and  imports  between  the  Roman  province  and 
the  dominions  of  Herod  Antipas.  One  of  the  chiefs  of 
these  publicans  was  a  man  named  Zacchseus,  doubly  odious 
to  the  people,  as  being  a  Jew  and  as  exercising  his  func- 
tions so  near  to  the  Holy  City.  His  othcial  rank  would 
increase  his  unpopularity,  because  the  Jews  would  regard 
it  as  due  to  exceptional  activity  in  the  service  of  their 
Roman  oppressors,  and  they  would  look  upon  his  wealth  as 
a  probable  indication  of  numerous  extortions.  This  man 
had  a  deep  desire  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  what  kind  of 
person  Jesus  was;  but  being  short  of  stature,  he  was  un- 
able, in  the  dense  crowd,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Him.  He 
therefore  ran  forward,  as  Jesus  was  passing  through  the 
town,  and  climbed  the  low  branches  of  an  Egyptian  fig, 
which  overshadowed  the  road.  Under  this  tree  Jesus 
would  pass,  and  tlie  publican  would  have  ample  opportu- 
nity of   seeing   one  who,  alone  of   His   nation,  not   only 


^OK  THE  LIFE  OF  ClimST. 

showed  no  concentrated  and  fanatical  liatied  for  the  class 
to  which  he  belonjj^ed,  but  had  found  among  publicans  His 
most  eager  listeners,  and  had  elevated  one  of  them  into  the 
rank  of  an  Apostle.  Zacchaeussaw  Him  as  He  approached, 
and  how  must  his  lieart  have  beat  with  joy  and  gratitude, 
when  the  Great  Prophet,  the  avowed  Messiah  of  His 
nation,  paused  nnder  the  tree,  looked  up,  and,  calling  him 
by  his  name,  bade  him  hasten  and  come  down,  because  He 
intended  to  be  a  guest  in  his  house.  Zacchteus  should  not 
only  see  Him,  but  He  would  come  in  and  sup  with  him, 
and  make  His  abode  with  Him — the  glorious  Messiah  a 
guest  of  the  execrated  publican.  With  undisguised  joy 
Zacchaeus  eagerly  hastened  down  from  the  boughs  of  the 
"  sycamore,"  and  led  the  way  to  his  house.  But  the  mur- 
murs of  the  multitude  were  long,  and  loud,  and  unani- 
mous. They  thotiglit  it  impolitic,  incongruous,  reprehen- 
sible, that  the  King,  in  the  very  midst  of  His  impassioned 
followers,  should  put  up  at  the  house  of  a  man  whose  very 
profession  was  a  symbol  of  the  national  degradation,  and 
who  even  in  tliat  profession  was,  as  they  openly  implied, 
disreputable.  But  the  approving  smile,  the  gracious  word 
of  Jesus  was  more  to  Zacchteus  that  all  the  murmurs  and 
insults  of  the  crowd.  Jesus  did  not  despise  him:  what 
mattered  then  the  contempt  of  the  multitude?  Nay,  Jesus 
had  done  him  honor,  therefore  he  would  honor,  he  would 
respect  himself.  As  all  that  was  base  in  him  would  have 
been  driven  into  defiance  by  contempt  and  hatred,  so  all 
that  was  nobie  was  evoked  by  a  considerate  tenderness.  He 
would  strive  to  be  worthy,  at  least  more  worthy,  of  his  glo- 
rious guest;  he  would  at  least  do  his  utmost  to  disgrace 
Him  less.  And,  therefore,  standing  prominently  forth 
among  the  throng,  he  uttered — not  to  them,  for  they  des- 
pised him,  and  for  them  he  cared  not,  but  to  his  Lord — 
the  vow  which,  by  one  high  act  of  magnanimity,  at  once 
attested  his  penitence  and  sealed  his  forgiveness.  "Behold 
the  half  of  my  goods.  Lord,  I  hereby  give  to  the  poor;  and 
whatever  fraudulent  gain  I  ever  made  from  anyone,  I  now 
restore  fourfold."  This  great  sacrifice  of  that  which  had 
hitherto  been  dearest  to  him,  this  fullest  possible  restitu- 
tion of  every  gain  he  had  ever  gotten  dishonestly,  this  pub- 
lic confession  and  public  restitution,  should  be  a  pledge  to 
liis  Lord   that  His  grace  had  not  been  in  vain.     Thus  did 


JERraiJO  AND  BETITANT.  3G9 

love  unseal  by  a  single  touch  those  swelling  fountains  of 
penitence  which  contempt  would  have  kept  c!ose(3  foreverl 
No  injiident  of  His  triumphal  procession  could  have  given 
to  our  Lord  a  deeper  and  holier  joy.  Was  it  not  His  very 
mission  to  seek  and  save  the  lost?  Looking  on  the  publi- 
can, thus  ennobled  by  that  instant  renunciation  of  the 
fruits  of  sin,  which  is  the  truest  test  of  a  genuine  repent- 
ance, He  said,  "  Now  is  salvation  come  to  this  house,  since 
he  too  is''  —  in  the  true  spiritual  sense,  not  in  the  idle, 
boastful,  material  sense  alone — "a  son  of  Abraham." 

To  show  them  how  mistaken  were  tlie  expectations  with 
which  they  were  now  excited — how  erroneous,  for  instance, 
were  the  principles  on  which  they  had  just  been  condemn' 
ing  Him  for  using  the  hospitality  of  Zacchteus — He  pro- 
ceeded (either  at  the  meal  in  the  publican's  house,  or  more 
probably  when  they  had  again  started)  to  tell  them  the 
Parable' of  the  Pounds.  Adopting  incidents  with  which 
the  history  of  the  Herod ian  family  had  made  them  familiar. 
He  told  them  of  a  nobleman  who  had  traveled  into  a  far 
country  to  receive  a  kingdom,  and  had  delivered  to  each  of 
his  servants  a  inina  to  be  profitably  employed  till  his 
return;  the  citizens  hated  him,  and  sent  an  embassy  after 
him  to  procure  his  rejection.  But  in  spite  of  tliis  his  king- 
dom was  confirmed,  and  he  came  back  to  punish  his  ene- 
mies, and  to  reward  his  servants  in  proportion  to  their 
fidelity.  One  faithless  servant,  instead  of  using  the  sum 
entrusted  to  him,  had  hidden  it  in  a  napkin,  and  returned 
it  with  an  unjust  and  insolent  complaint  of  h.is  master's 
severity.  This  man  was  deprived  of  his  pouiid,  whicli  was 
given  to  the  most  deserving  of  the  good  and  faithful  serv- 
ants; these  were  magnificently  rewarded,  wliile  the  rebel- 
lious citizens  were  brought  forth  and  slain.  The  parable 
was  one  of  many-sided  application;  it  indicated  His  near 
departure  from  the  world;  the  hatred  wliich  should  reject 
Him;  the  duty  of  faithfulness  in  the  use  of  all  that  He 
entrusted  to  them;  the  uncertainty  of  His  return;  the  cer- 
tainty that,  when  He  did  return,  there  would  be  a  solemn 
account;  the  condemnation  of  tlie  slothful;  tlie  splendid 
reward  of  all  who  should  serve  Him  well  ;  the  utter  de- 
struction of  those  who  endeavored  to  reject  His  power. 
Probably  while  He  delivered  this  parable  tlie  caravan  had 
paused,  and  the  pilgrims  had  crowded  round  Him.     Leav- 


370  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRrST. 

ing  them  to  meditate  on  its  significan(;e,  He  once  more 
moved  forward  alone  at  the  head  of  tlie  long  and  marveling 
procession.  They  fell  reverently  back,  and  followed  Him 
with  many  a  look  of  awe  as  He  slowly  climbed  the  long, 
sultry,  barren  gorge  which  led  up  to  Jerusalem  from 
Jericho. 

He  did  not  mean  to  make  the  city  of  Jerusalem  His 
actual  resting  place,  but  preferred  as  usual  to  stay  in  the 
loved  home  at  Bethany.  Thither  He  arrived  on  jthe 
evening  of  Friday,  Nisiin  8,  A.u.C.  780  (March  31,  a.d. 
30),  six  days  before  the  Passover,  and  before  the  sunset 
had  commenced  the  Sabbath  hours.  Here  He  would  part 
from  His  train  of  pilgrims,  some  of  whom  would  go  to 
enjoy  the  hospitality  of  their  friends  in  the  city,  and 
others,  as  they  do  at  the  present  day,  would  run  up  for 
themselves  rude  tents  and  booths  in  the  valley  of  the 
Kedron,  and  about  the  western  slopes  of  the  Mount  of 
Olives. 

The  Sabbath  day  was  spent  in  quiet,  and  on  the  evening 
they  made  Him  a  supper.  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Mark  say, 
a  little  mysteriously,  that  this  feast  was  given  in  the  house 
of  Simon  the  leper.  St.  John  makes  no  mention  whatever 
of  Simon  the  leper,  a  name  which  does  not  occur  else- 
where ;  and  it  is  clear  from  his  narrative  that  the  family 
of  Bethany  were  in  all  respects  the  central  figures  at  this 
entertainment.  Mai'tha  seems  to  have  had  the  entire 
supervision  of  the  feast,  and  the  risen  Lazarus  was  almost 
as  much  an  object  of  curiosity  as  Jesus  himself.  In  short 
so  many  thronged  to  see  Lazarus — for  the  family  was  one 
of  good  position,  and  its  members  were  widely  known  and 
beloved — that  the  notorious  and  indisputable  miracle 
which  had  been  performed  on  his  behalf  caused  many  to 
believe  on  Jesus.  This  so  exasperated  the  ruling  party  at 
Jerusalem  that,  in  their  wicked  desperation,  they  actually 
held  a  consultation  how  they  might  get  rid  of  this  living 
witness  to  the  supernatural  powers  of  the  Messiah  whom 
they  rejected.  Now  since  the  raising  of  Lazarus  was  so 
intimately  connected  with  the  entire  cycle  of  events  which 
the  earlier  Evangelists  so  minutely  record,  we  are  again 
driven  to  the  conclusion  that  there  must  have  been  some 
good  reason,  a  reason  which  we  can  but  uncertainly  con- 
jecture, for  their  marked  reticence  on  this  subject;  and 


JERTCnO  AND  BErHANT.  HTl 

we  find  another  tnice  of  this  reticence  in  their  calling 
Marv  "a  certain  woman,"  in  their  omission  of  all  allusion 
to  Martha  and  Lazarns,  and  in  their  telling  us  that  this 
memorable  banquet  was  served  in  the  house  of  "  Simon 
the  leper."  Who  then  was  this  Simon  the  leper?  That 
he  was  no  longer  a  leper  is  of  course  certain,  for  otherwise 
he  could  not  have  been  living  in  his  own  house,  or  min- 
gling in  general  society.  Had  he  then  been  cleansed  by 
Jesus?  and,  if  so,  was  this  one  cause  of  the  profound  belief 
in  Him  which  prevailed  in  that  little  household,  and  of  the 
tender  affection  with  which  they  always  welcomed  Him? 
or,  again,  was  Simon  now  dead?  We  cannot  answer  these 
questions,  nor  are  there  sufficient  data  to  enable  us  to 
decide  whether  he  was  the  father  of  Martha  and  Mary  and 
Lazarus,  or,  as  some  have  conjectured,  whether  Martha 
was  his  widow,  and  the  inheritress  of  his  honse. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  feast  was  chiefly  memorable,  not 
for  the  number  of  Jews  who  thronged  to  witness  it,  and 
so  to  gaze  at  once  on  the  Prophet  of  Nazareth  and  on  the 
man  whom  He  had  raised  from  the  dead,  but  from  one 
memorable  incident  wdiicli  occurred  in  the  course  of  it,  and 
which  was  the  immediate  beginning  of  the  dark  and 
dreadful  end. 

For  as  she  sat  there  in  the  presence  of  her  beloved  and 
rescued  brother,  and  her  yet  more  deeply  worshiped  Lord, 
the  feelings  of  Mary  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  She 
was  not  occupied  like  her  sister  in  the  active  ministrations 
of  the  feast,  but  she  sat  and  thought  and  gazed  until  the 
fire  burned,  and  she  felt  impelled  to  some  outward  sign  of 
her  love,  her  gratitude,  her  adoration.  So  she  arose  and 
fetched  an  alabaster  vase  of  Lidian  spikenard,  and  came 
softly  behind  Jesus  whore  He  sat,  and  broke  the  alabaster 
in  her  hands,  and  poured  tlie  genuine  precious  perfume 
first  over  His  head,  then  over  His  feet,  and  then — un- 
conscious of  every  presence  save  His  alone — she  wiped  those 
feet  with  the  long  tresses  of  her  hair,  while  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  whole  house  was  filled  with  the  delicious 
fragrance.  It  was  an  act  of  devoted  sacrifice,  of  exquisite 
self-abandonment  ;  and  the  poor  Galilaeans  who  followed 
Jesus,  so  little  accustomed  to  any  luxury,  so  fully  alive  to 
the  costly  nature  of  the  gift,  might  well  have  been  amazed 
that  it  should  have  all  been  lavished  on  the  rich  luxury  of 


372  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

oue  brief  momciit.  None  but  tlic  most  spiritiinl-hearted 
there  could  feel  that  the  delicate  odor  wliioh  breathed 
through  the  perfumed  house  might  be  to  God  a  sweet- 
smelling  savor  ;  that  even  this  was  infinitely  too  little  to 
satisfy  the  love  of  her  who  gave,  or  the  dignity  of  Ilini  to 
whom  the  gift  was  given. 

But  there  was  one  present  to  wbom  on  the  very  ground 
the  act  was  odious  and  repulsive.  There  is  no  vice  at  once 
so  absoi'bing,  so  unreasonable^  and  so  degrading  as  the 
vice  of  avarice,  and  avarice  was  the  besetting  sin  in  the 
dark  soul  of  the  traitor  Judas.  The  failure  to  struggle 
with  his  own  temptations  ;  the  disappointment  of  every 
expectation  which  had  first  drawn  him  to  Jesus  ;  the  in- 
tolerable rebuke  conveyed  to  his  whole  being  by  the  daily 
communion  with  a  sinless  purity  ;  the  darker  shadow 
which  he  could  not  but  feel  that  his  guilt  flung  athwart 
his  footsteps  because  of  the  burning  sunlight  in  which  for 
many  months  he  now  had  walked  ;  the  sense  too  that  the 
eye  of  his  Master,  possibly  even  the  eyes  of  some  of  his  fellow- 
apostles,  had  read  or  were  beginning  to  read  the  hidden 
secrets  of  his  heart — all  these  things  had  gradually  deep- 
ened from  an  incipient  alienation  into  an  insatiable  repug- 
nancy and  hate.  And  the  sight  of  Mary's  lavish  sacrifice, 
the  consciousness  that  it  was  now  too  late  to  save  that 
large  sum  for  the  bag — the  mere  possession  of  which,  apart 
from  the  sums  which  he  could  pilfer  out  of  it,  gratified 
his  greed  for  gold — filled  him  with  disgust  and  madness. 
He  had  a  devil.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  personally 
cheated;  as  if  the  money  were  by  right  Ids,  and  he  had 
been,  in  a  senseless  manner,  defrauded  of  it,  "  To  what 
purpose  is  this  waste  ?"  he  indignantly  said  ;  and,  alas  ! 
how  often  have  his  words  been  echoed,  for  whenever  there 
is  an  act  of  splendid  self-forgetfulness  there  is  always  a 
Judas  to  sneer  and  and  murmur  at  it.  "  This  ointment 
might  have  been  sold  for  three  hundred  pence  and  given 
to  the  poor  !"  Three  hundred  pence — ten  pounds  or  more  ! 
There  was  perfect  frenzy  in  the  thought  of  such  utter  per- 
dition of  good  money;  why,  for  bai'ely  a  third  of  such  a 
sum,  this  son  of  perdition  was  ready  to  sell  his  Lord. 
Mary  thought  it  not  good  enough  to  anele  (Jhrist's  sacred 
feet;  Judas  thought  a  third  part  of  it  sufficient  reward  for 
selling  His  very  life. 


JERWUO  AND  BKTUANY.  373 

That  little  touch  about  its  "being  given  to  the  poor" 
is  a  very  instructive  one.  It  was  probably  the  veil  used 
by  Judas  to  half  conceal  even  from  himself  the  gross- 
ness  of  his  own  motives — the  fact  that  he  was  a  petty 
thief,  and  really  wished  tlie  chai-ge  of  this  money  because 
it  would  have  enabled  him  to  add  to  his  own  })rivate  store. 
People  rarely  sin  under  the  full  glare  of  self-consciousness; 
I  hey  usually  blind  themselves  with  false  pretexts  and 
s[)ecious  motives;  and  though  Judas  could  not  conceal  his 
baseness  from  the  clearer  eye  of  John,  he  probably  con- 
cealed it  from  himself  under  the  notion  tliat  he  really  was 
protesting  against  an  act  of  romantic  wastefulness,  and 
pleading  the  cause  of  disinterested  charity. 

But  Jesus  would  not  permit  the  contagion  of  this  worldly 
indignation — which  had  already  infected  some  of  the 
simple  disciples — to  spread  any  further  ;  nor  would  He 
allow  Mary,  already  the  center  of  an  unfavorable  observa- 
tion which  pained  and  troubled  her,  to  suffer  any  more 
from  the  consequences  of  her  noble  act.  *'  Why  trouble 
ye  the  woman  ?"  Ke  said.  "Let  her  alone  ;  she  wrought 
a  good  work  upon  Me  ;  for  ye  have  the  poor  always  with 
you,  but  Me  ye  h.ave  not  always  ;  for  in  casting  this 
ointment  on  My  body,  she  did  it  for  My  burying."  And 
lie  added  the  prophecy — a  prophecy  which  to  this  day 
is  memorably  faltilled — that  wherever  the  Gospel  should 
be  preached  that  deed  of  hers  should  be  recorded  and 
honored. 

"For  My  burying" — clearly,  therefore,  His  condemna- 
tion and  burial  were  near  at  baud.  This  was  another 
death  -  blow  to  all  false  Messianic  hopes.  No  earthly 
wealth,  no  regal  elevation  could  be  looked  for  by  the  fol- 
lowers of  One  who  was  so  soon  to  die.  It  may  have  been 
another  impulse  of  disappointment  to  the  thievish  traitor 
who  had  thus  publicly  been  not  oidy  thwarted,  but  also 
silenced,  and  implicitly  rebuked.  The  loss  of  the  money 
which  mi(jht  by  imaginstion  have  been  under  his  own  con- 
trol, burned  in  him  with  "a  secret,  dark  melancholic 
fire."  He  wowhlnot  loose  everything.  In  his  Imtred,  and 
madness,  and  despair,  he  sluiik  away  from  B(>tliany  that 
night,  and  made  his  way  to  Jerusalem,  and  got  introduced 
into  the  council  room  of  the  chief  priests  in  the  house  of 
Caiaphas,  and  had    tliat  first  fatal  interview  in  wiiieli   ho 


374  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

bargained  with  them  to  betray  his  Lord,  "Wiiat  are  you 
willing  to  give  me,  and  I  will  betray  Him  to  you  ?"  What 
greedy  cliafferings  took  place  we  are  not  told,  nor  whether 
the  counter  avarices  of  these  united  hatreds  had  a  struggle 
before  they  decided  on  the  paltry  blood-money.  If  so,  the 
astute  Jewisli  priests  beat  down  the  poor  ignorant  Jewish 
Apostle.  For  all  that  they  offered  and  all  they  paid  was 
thirty  pieces  of  silver — about  £3  16s. — the  ransom-money 
of  the  meanest  slave.  For  this  price  he  was  to  sell  his 
Master,  and  in  selling  his  Master  to  sell  his  own  life,  and 
to  gain  in  return  the  execration  of  the  world  for  all  gen- 
erations yet  to  come.  And  so,  for  the  last  week  of  his  own 
and  his  Master's  life,  Judas  moved  about  with  the  purpose 
of  murder  in  his  dark  and  desperate  heart.  But  as  yet  no 
day  had  been  fixed,  no  plan  decided  on — only  the  betrayal 
paid  for ;  and  there  seems  to  have  been  a  general  convic- 
tion that  it  would  not  do  to  make  the  attempt  during 
the  actual  feast,  lest  there  should  be  an  uproar  among 
the  multitude  who  accepted  Him,  ami  especially  among 
the  dense  throngs  of  pilgrims  from  His  native  Galilee. 
They  believed  that  many  opportunities  would  occur, 
either  at  Jerusalem  or  elsewhere,  when  the  Great  Passover 
was  finished,  and  the  Holy  City  liad  relapsed  into  its 
ordinary  calm. 

And  the  events  of  the  following  day  would  be  likely  to 
give  the  most  emphatic  confirmation  to  the  worldly  wisdom 
of  their  wicked  decision. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

PALM    SUNDAY. 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  general  impression  for  some 
time  beforehand  that,  in  spite  of  all  which  had  recently 
happened,  Jesus  Avould  still  be  present  at  the  Paschal 
Feast,  The  probability  of  this  luid  incessantly  been  de- 
bated among  the  people,  and  the  expected  arrival  of  the 
Prophet  of  Galilee  was  looked  forward  to  with  intense 
curiosity  and  interest. 

(Consequently,  when  it  became  known  early  on  Sunday 
morning  that  during  the  day  He  would  certainly  enter  the 


PALM  S  UNDA  Y.  375 

Holy  City,  the  excitement  was  very  great.  The  news 
would  be  spread  by  some  of  the  numerous  Jews  who  had 
visited  Bethany  on  the  previous  evening,  after  the  sunset 
had  closed  the  Sabbath,  and  thus  enabled  them  to  exceed, 
the  limits  of  the  Sabbath  day's  journey.  Thus  it  was  that 
a  very  great  multitude  was  prepared  to  receive  and  welcome 
the  Deliverer  who  had  raised  the  dead. 

He  started  on  foot.  Three  roads  led  from  Bethany  over 
the  Mount  of  Olives  to  Jerusalem.  One  of  these  passes 
between  its  northern  and  central  summits ;  the  other 
ascends  the  highest  point  of  the  mountain,  and  slopes 
down  through  the  modern  village  of  Et  Tur ;  the  third, 
which  is,  and  always  must  have  been,  the  main  road, 
sweeps  round  the  southern  shoulder  of  the  central  mass, 
between  it  and  the  "Hiir of  Evil  Counsel."  The  others 
are  rather  mountain  paths  than  roads,  and  as  Jesus  was 
attended  by  so  many  disciples,  it  it  clear  that  He  took  the 
third  and  easiest  route. 

Passing  from  under  the  palm-trees  of  Bethany,  they  ap- 
proached the  fig-gardens  of  Bethphage,  the  "  House  of 
Figs,"  a  small  suburb  or  hamlet  of  undiscovered  site, 
which  lay  probably  a  little  to  the  south  of  Bethany,  and  in 
sight  of  it.  To  this  village,  or  some  other  hamlet  which 
lay  near  it,  Jesus  dispatched  two  of  His  disciples.  The 
minute  description  of  the  spot  given  by  St.  Mark  makes 
us  suppose  that  Peter  was  one  of  them,  and  if  so  he  was 
probably  accompanied  by  John.  Jesus  told  him  that  when 
they  got  to  the  village  they  should  find  an  ass  tied,  and  a 
colt  with  her  ;  these  they  were  to  loose  and  bring  to  Him, 
and  if  any  objection  arose  on  the  part  of  the  owner,  it 
would  at  once  be  silenced  by  telling  him  that  "the  Lord 
had  need  of  them."  Everything  happened  as  He  had 
said.  In  the  passage  round  the  house — i.e.,  tied  up  at  the 
back  of  the  house — they  found  the  ass  and  the  foal,  which 
was  adapted  for  its  sacred  purpose  because  it  had  never  yet 
been  used.  The  owners,  on  hearing  their  object,  at  once 
permitted  them  to  take  the  animals,  and  they  led  them  to 
Jesus,  putting  their  garments  over  them  to  do  Him  regal 
honor.  Then  they  lifted  Him  upon  the  colt,  and  the  tri- 
umphal procession  set  forth.  It  was  no  seditious  move- 
ment to  stir  up  political  enthusiasm,  no  ''insulting 
vanity  "  to  commemorate  ambitious  triuint)h.     Xay,  it  was 


376  THE  LIFK  OF  VURLST. 

a  mere  outburst  of  proviucial  joy,  the  simple  exultation  of 
poor  Galiloeans  and  despised  disciples,  lie  rides,  not  upon 
a  war-horse,  but  on  an  animal  wliich  was  the  symbol  of 
peace.  The  haughty  Gentiles,  had  they  witnessed  the 
humble  procession,  would  have  utterly  derided  it,  as  indeed 
they  did  deride  the  record  of  it ;  but  the  Aj)ostles  recalled 
in  after  days  that  it  fulfilled  tlic  pi'ophecy  of  Zecdiariah  : 
"Rejoice  greatly.  O  daughtei-  of  Sion;  shout,  O  daughter 
of  Jerusalem;  behold,  thy  King  cometh  unto  thee;  He  is 
meeii,  and  having  salvation;  lowly,  and  riding  upon  an  ass, 
and  upon  a  colt  tlie  foal  of  an  ass."  Yes,  it  was  a  proces- 
sion of  very  lowly  pomp,  and  yet  beside  it  how  do  the 
grandest  ti'inmphs  of  aggressive  war  and  unjust  conquest 
sink  into  utter  insignificance  and  disgracel 

Jesus  mounted  the  unused  foal,  while  probably  some  of 
His  disciples  led  it  by  the  bridle.  And  no  sooner  had  He 
started  than  the  multitude  spread  out  their  uppergarments 
to  tapestry  His  path,  and  kept  tearing  or  cutting  down  the 
boughs  of  olive  and  tig  and  walnut,  to  scatter  them  before 
Him.  Then,  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  the  disciples  broke 
into  the  shout,  "  Hosanna  to  tiie  8on  of  David  I  Blessed 
is  the  King  of  Israel  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  I 
Hosanna  in  the  highest  !"and  the  multitude  caught  up  the 
joyous  strain  and  told  each  other  how  He  had  raised  Laz- 
arus from  the  dead. 

The  road  slopes  by  a  gi-adual  ascent  up  the  Mount  of 
Olives,  through  green  fields  and  under  shady  trees,  till  it 
suddenly  sweeps  round  to  the  northward.  It  is  at  this 
angle  of  the  road  that  Jerusalem,  which  hitherto  has  been 
hidden  by  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  bursts  full  ui)on  the 
view.  There,  through  the  clear  atmosphere,  rising  out  of 
the  deep,  nmbi-ageous  valleys  which  surrounded  it,  the  city 
of  ten  thousand  memories  stood  clear  before  Him;  and  the 
morning  sunlight,  as  it  blazed  on  the  marble  pinnacles  and 
gilded  roofs  of  the  Temple  buildings,  was  reflected  in  a 
very  fiery  splendor  which  forced  the  spectator  to  avert 
his  glance.  Such  a  glimpse  of  such  a  city  is  at  all  times 
affecting,  and  many  a  Jewish  and  (Icntile  traveler  has 
reined  his  horse  at  this  spot,  ;ind  gazed  upon  the  scone  in 
emotion  too  deep  for  speecli.  But  the  Jerusalem  of  that  day 
with  *Mts  imperial  mantle  of  })roud  towers,"  was  regai'ded 
as  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  and  w.as  a  spectacle 


PALM  SUNDAY.  377 

iucomparably  more  magnificent  than  the  decayed  and 
crumbling  city  of  to-day.  And  who  can  interpret,  who  can 
enter  into  the  mighty  rush  of  divine  compassion  which,  at 
that  spectacle,  shook  the  Saviour's  soul?  As  He  gazed  on 
that  "  mass  of  gold  and  snow,"  was  there  no  pride,  no  ex- 
ultation in  the  heart  of  its  true  King?  Far  from  it  !  He 
had  dropped  silent  tears  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus;  here  He 
wept  aloud.  All  the  shame  of  His  mockery,  all  the  anguish 
of  His  torture,  was  powerless,  five  days  afterward,  to  extort 
from  Him  a  single  groan,  or  to  wet  His  eyelids  with  one 
trickling  tear;  but  here,  all  the  pity  that  was  within  Him 
overmastered  His  human  spirit,  and  He  not  only  wept,  but 
broke  into  a  passion  of  lamentation,  in  which  the  choked 
voice  seemed  to  struggle  for  its  utterance.  A  strange 
Messianic  triumph  !  a  strange  interruption  of  the  festal 
cries  I  The  Deliverer  weeps  over  the  city  which  it  is  now 
too  late  to  save;  the  King  prophesies  the  utter  ruin  of 
the  nation  which  He  c;iine  to  rule !  *'  If  thou  hadst 
known,"  He  cried — while  the  wondering  multitudes 
looked  on,  and  knew  not  what  to  think  or  say  — 
"If  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou,  at  least  in  thy 
day,  the  things  that  belong  unto  thy  peace!" — and 
there  sorrow  interrupted  the  sentence,  and  when  He 
found  voice  to  continue.  He  could  only  add,  "but  now 
they  are  hid  from  thine  eyes.  For  the  days  shall  come 
upon  thee  that  thine  enemies  shall  cast  a  trench  about 
thee,  and  compass  thee  round,  and  keep  thee  in  on  every 
side,  and  shall  lay  thee  even  with  the  ground,  and  thy 
children  within  thee;  and  they  shall  not  leave  in  thee  one 
stone  upon  another,  because  thou  knewest  not  the  time  of 
thy  vistation."  It  was  the  last  invitation  from  "the 
Glory  of  God  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,"  before  that  Shech- 
inah  vanished  from  their  eyes  forever. 

Sternly,  literally,  terribly,  within  fifty  years,  was  that 
prophecy  fulfilled.  Four "^ years  before  the  war  began, 
while  as  yet  the  city  was  in  the  greatest  peace  and  pros- 
perity, a  melancholy  maniac  traversed  its  streets  with  the 
repeated  cry,  "  A  voice  from  the  east,  a  voice  from  the 
west,  a  voice  from  tlie  four  winds,  a  voice  against  Jerusa- 
lem and  the  holy  house,  and  a  voice  against  the  bride- 
grooms and  the  brides,  and  a  voice  against  this  whole  peo- 
plt-;"  nor  could  any  scourgings  or  tortures  wring  from  him 


378  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

any  other  words  except  ''  Woe!  woe!  to  Jerusalem;  woe 
to  the  city;  woe  to  the  people;  woe  to  the  holy  house  I" 
until,  seven  years  afterward,  during  the  siege,  he  was 
killed  by  a  stone  from  a  catapault.  His  voice  was  but  the 
renewed  echo  of  the  voice  of  prophecy. 

Titus  had  not  originally  wished  to  encompass  the  city,  but 
he  was  forced  by  tlie  despair  and  obstinacy  of  the  Jews  to 
surround  it,  first  witli  a  palisaded  mound,  and  then,  when 
this  vallum  and  agger  were  destroyed,  with  a  wall  of 
masonry,  lie  did  not  wish  to  sacrifice  the  Temple — nay, 
he  made  every  possible  effort  to  save  it — but  he  was  forced 
to  leave  it  in  ashes.  He  did  not  intend  to  be  cruel  to  the 
inhabitants,  but  the  deadly  fanaticism  of  their  opposition 
so  extinguished  all  desire  to  spare  them,  that  he  under- 
took the  task  of  well-nigh  exterminating  the  race  —  of 
crucifying  them  by  hundreds,  of  exposing  them  in  the 
amphitheater  by  thousands,  of  selling  them  into  slavery 
by  myriads.  Josephus  tells  us  that,  even  immediately 
after  the  siege  of  Titus,  no  one,  in  the  desert  waste 
around  him,  would  have  recognized  the  beauty  of 
Judffia  ;  and  that  if  any  Jew  had  come  upon  the  city  of  a 
sudden,  however  well  he  had  known  it  before,  he  would 
have  asked  "  what  place  it  was  ?"  And  he  who,  in  modern 
Jerusalem,  would  look  for  relics  of  the  ten  times  captured 
city  of  the  days  of  Christ,  must  look  for  them  twenty  feet 
beneath  the  soil,  and  will  scarcely  find  them.  In  one 
spot  alone  remain  a  few  massive  substructions,  as  though 
to  show  how  vast  is  the  ruin  they  represent  ;  and  here, 
on  every  Friday,  assemble  a  few  poverty-stricken  Jews, 
to  stand  each  in  the  shroud  in  which  he  will  be  buried, 
and  wail  over  the  shattered  glories  of  their  fallen  and 
desecrated  home. 

There  had  been  a  pause  in  the  procession  while  Jesus 
shed  His  bitter  tears  and  uttered  His  prophetic  lamen- 
tation. But  now  the  people  in  the  valley  of  Kedron,  and 
about  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  pilgrims  v.'hose 
booths  and  tents  stood  so  thickly  on  the  green  slopes  below, 
had  caught  sight  of  the  approaching  company,  and  heard 
the  echo  of  the  glad  shouts,  and  knew  what  the  com- 
motion meant.  At  that  time  the  palms  were  numerous  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Jerusalem,  though  now  but  a  few 
]emain  :    and    tearing    down    their  green   and    graceful 


PALM  S  UNDA  Y.  379 

branches.,  tlie  people  streatned  up  the  road  to  meet  the 
approaching  Prophet.  And  when  the  two  streams  of 
people  met  —  those  who  had  accompanied  Him  from 
Bethany,  and  those  who  had  come  to  meet  Him  from 
Jerusalem — they  left  Him  riding  in  the  midst,  and  some 
jireceding,  some  following  Him,  advanced,  shouting 
"Hosaunas,"  and  waving  branches,  to  the  gate  of  Jeru- 
salem. 

Mingled  among  the  crowd  were  some  of  the  Pharisees, 
and  the  joy  of  the  multitude  was  to  them  gall  and  worm- 
wood. What  meant  tliese  Messianic  cries  and  kingly 
titles  ?  Were  they  not  dangerous  and  unseemly  ?  Why 
did  He  allow  them  ?  '*  Master,  rebuke  Thy  disciples." 
But  He  would  uot  do  so.  "If  these  should  hold  their 
peace,"  He  said,  '*  the  stones  would  immediately  cry  out." 
The  words  may  have  recalled  to  them  the  threats  which 
occur,  amid  denuuciations  against  covetousness  and 
cruelty,  and  the  utter  destruction  by  which  they  should 
be  avenged,  in  the  prophet  Habakkuk — "For  the  stone 
shall  cry  out  of  the  wall,  and  the  beam  out  of  the  timber 
shall  answer  it."  The  Pharisees  felt  thaX  they  were  power- 
less to  stay  the  flood  of  enthusiasm. 

And  when  they  I'eached  the  walls  the  whole  city  was 
stirred  with  powerful  excitement  and  alarm.  "  AVho  is 
this  ?"  they  asked,  as  they  leaned  out  of  the  lattices  and 
from  the  roofs,  and  stood  aside  in  the  bazaars  and  streets 
to  let  them  pass  ;  and  the  multitude  answered,  with  some- 
thing of  pride  in  their  great  countryman — but  already,  as 
it  were,  with  a  shadow  of  distrust  falling  over  their  high 
Messianic  hopes,  as  they  came  in  contact  with  the  con- 
tempt and  hostility  of  the  capital — "  This  is  Jesus,  the 
Prophet  of  Nazareth." 

The  actual  procession  would  not  proceed  further  than 
tlie  foot  of  Mount  Moriah  (the  Har  ha-heit,  Isa.  ii.  2), 
beyond  wliich  they  might  not  advance  in  traveling  array, 
or  with  dusty  feet.  Before  they  had  reached  the  Shushau 
gate  of  the  Temple  they  dispersed,  and  Jesus  entered. 
The  Lord  whom  they  sought  had  come  suddenly  to  His 
Temple — even  the  messenger  of  the  covenant;  but  they 
neither  recognized  Him,  nor  delighted  in  Him,  thougli 
His  first  act  was  to  purify  and  purge  it,  that  they  miglit 
oifer  to  the  Lord  an  oirerine,-    in    riu:hteousncss.      As    lie 


380  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

looked  round  on  all  things  His  heart  was  again  moved 
vitliiu  Him  to  strong  indignation.  Three  years  before,  at 
His  first  Passover,  He  had  cleansed  the  Temple  ;  but, 
alas  !  in  vain.  Alrcad}'  greed  had  won  the  battle  against 
reverence ;  already  the  tessellated  floors  and  pillared 
colonnades  of  the  Court  of  the  Gentiles  had  been  again 
usurped  by  droves  of  oxen  and  sheep,  and  dove-sellers,  and 
usurers,  and  its  whole  precincts  were  dirty  with  driven 
cattle,  and  echoed  to  the  hum  of  bargaining  voices  and 
the  clink  of  gold.  In  that  desecrated  place  He  would  not 
teach.  Once  more,  in  mingled  sorrow  and  anger,  He 
drove  them  forth,  while  none  dared  to  resist  His  burning 
zeal;  nor  would  He  even  suffer  the  peaceful  inclosure  to 
be  disturbed  by  people  passing  to  and  fro  with  vessels,  and 
so  turning  it  into  a  thoroughfare.  The  dense  crowd  of 
Jews — numbering,  it  is  said,  three  millions — who  crowded 
to  the  Holy  City  in  the  week  of  the  feast,  no  doubt  made 
the  Court  of  the  Gentiles  a  worse  and  busier  scene  on  that 
day  than  at  any  other  time,  and  the  more  so  because  on 
that  day,  according  to  the  law,  the  Paschal  lamb — which 
the  visitors  would  be  obliged  to  purchase — was  chosen  and 
set  apart.  But  no  considerations  of  their  businesss  and 
convenience  could  make  it  tolerable  that  they  should  turn 
His  Father's  house,  which  was  a  house  of  prayer  for  all 
nations,  into  a  place  most  like  one  of  those  foul  caves 
which  He  had  seen  so  often  in  the  Waddy  Ilammam, 
where  brigands  wi'angled  over  their  ill-gotten  spoils. 

Not  till  He  had  reduced  the  Temple  to  decency  and 
silence  could  He  begin  His  customary  ministrations. 
Doubtless  the  task  was  easier,  because  it  had  already  been 
once  performed.  But  when  the  miseral)le  hubbub  was  over, 
then  the  Temple  i-esumed  what  should  have  been  its  normal 
aspect.  Sufferers  came  to  Hini,  and  He  healed  them. 
Listeners  in  hundreds  thronged  round  Him,  were  astonished 
at  His  doctrine,  hung  upon  His  li})s.  The  very  children 
of  the  Temple,  in  their  innocent  delight,  continued  the 
glad  Hosannas  which  had  welcojned  him.  The  Chief 
Priests,  and  Scribes,  and  Pharisees,  and  leading  people 
saw,  and  despised,  and  wondered,  and  jierished.  They 
could  but  gnash  tlieir  teeth  in  their  impotence,  daring  to 
do  nothing,  saying  to  each  other  that  tliey  could  do  noth- 
ing, for  the  whole  world   had   gone  after  Him,  yet  hoping 


PALM  SUNDAY.  381 

still  that  their  hour  would  come,  and  the  power  of 
darkness.  If  they  ventured  to  say  one  word  to  Him, 
they  had  to  retire  abashed  and  frustrated  by  His  calm 
reply.  They  angrily  called  his  attention  to  the  cry  of  the 
boys  in  the  Temple  courts,  and  said,  *'  Hearest  tlu)u  what 
these  say?"  Perhaps  they  were  boys  employed  in  the  mu- 
sical services  of  the  Temple,  and  if  so  the  priestly  partly 
would  be  still  more  enraged.  But  Jesus  calmly  pi'otected 
the  children  from  their  unconcealed  hatred.  "'  Yea,"  he 
answered,  "  have  ye  never  read,  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes 
and  sucklings  Thou  hast  peifected  praise?" 

So  in  high  discourse,  amid  the  vain  attempts  of  His 
enemies  to  annoy  and  hinder  Ilim,  the  hours  of  that 
memorable  day  passed  by.  And  it  was  marked  by  one  more 
deeply  interesting  incident.  Strr.ck  by  all  they  had  seen 
and  heard,  some  Greeks — probably  Jewish  proselytes  at- 
tracted to  Jerusalem  by  tlie  feast — came  to  Philip,  and 
asked  him  to  procure  for  them  a  private  intei-view  with 
Jesus.  Chaldsians  from  the  East  had  sought  His  cradle  ; 
these  Greeks  from  the  West  came  to  His  cross.  Who  they 
were,  and  why  they  sought  Him,  we  know  not.  An  inter- 
esting tradition,  but  one  on  which  unfortunately  we  can 
lay  no  stress,  says  that  they  were  emissaries  from 
Abgarus  Y,  King  of  Edessa,  who,  having  been  made 
aware  of  the  miracles  of  Jesus,  and  of  the  dangers  to  which 
He  was  now  exposed,  sent  these  emissaries  to  offer  Him  an 
asylum  in  his  dominions.  The  legend  adds  tliat,  though 
Jesus  declined  the  offer.  He  rewarded  the  faith  of  Abgarus 
by  writing  him  a  letter,  and  healing  him  of  a  sickness. 

St.  John  mentions  nothing  of  these  circumstances  ;  he 
does  not  even  tell  us  why  these  Gi'eeks  came  to  Philip  in 
particular.  As  Bethsaida  was  tlie  luitive  town  of  this  x\postle, 
and  as  many  Jews  at  this  period  had  adopted  Gentile 
appellations,  especially  those  which  were  current  in  the 
family  of  Herod,  we  cannot  attach  much  importance  to 
the  Greek  form  of  his  name.  It  is  an  interesting  indica- 
tion of  the  personal  awe  which  the  Apostles  felt  for  their 
Master,  that  Philip  did  not  at  once  venture  to  grant  their 
request.  He  went  and  consulted  his  fellow-townsman 
Andrew,  and  the  two  Apostles  then  nnide  known  the  wish 
of  the  Greeks  to  Jesus.  Whether  they  actually  introduced 
the  inquirers  into  His  presence  we  cannot  tell,  but  at  any 


382  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

rate  Ho  saw  in  tlic  incident  a  frcsli  sign  that  the  hour  was 
come  when  His  name  shouM  be  ghirified.  His  answer  was 
to  the  effect  that  as  a  gr;iin  of  wheat  must  die  before  it  can 
bring  forth  frnit,  so  the  load  to  His  glory  lay  through 
humiliation,  and  they  who  follow  Him  must  be  prepared  at 
all  times  to  follow  Him  even  to  death.  As  He  contem- 
plated that  approaching  death,  the  human  horror  of  it 
struggled  with  ardor  of  His  obedience  ;  and  conscious  that 
to  face  that  dread  hour  was  to  conquer  it,  he  cried, 
"Father  glorify  Thy  name  I"  Then  for  the  third  time 
in  his  life  came  a  voice  from  heaven,  which  said,  "I  have 
both  glorified  it,  and  will  glorify  it  again."  St.  John 
frankly  tells  us  that  that  Voice  did  not  sound  alike  to  all. 
The  common  multitude  took  it  but  for  a  passing  peal  of 
thunder ;  others  said  "  An  angel  spake  to  Him  ;"  the 
Voice  was  articulate  only  to  the  few.  But  Jesus 
told  them  that  the  Voice  was  for  their  sakes,  not  for 
His  ;  for  the  Judgment  of  the  world,  its  conviction  of  sin 
by  the  Holy  Spirit  was  now  at  hand,  and  the  Prince  of 
this  world  should  be  cast  out.  He  should  be  lifted  up, 
like  the  brazen  serpent  in  the  wilderness,  and  when  so 
exalted  He  should  draw  all  men  unto  Him.  The  people 
were  perplexed  at  these  dark  allusions.  They  asked  Him 
what  could  be  the  meaning  of  His  saying  that  "  the  Son 
of  Man  should  be  lifted  up  ?"  \i  it  meant  violently  taken 
away  by  a  death  of  shame,  how  could  this  be  ?  Was  not 
the  Son  of  Man  a  title  of  the  Messiah  ?  and  did  not  the 
prophet  imply  that  the  reign  of  Messiah  would  be  eternal? 
The  true  answer  to  their  query  could  only  be  received  by 
spiritual  hearts  —  they  were  unprepared  for  it,  and  would 
only  have  been  offended  and  shocked  by  it;  therefore  Jesus 
did  not  answer  them.  He  only  bade  them  walk  in  the 
light  during  the  very  little  while  that  it  should  still  remain 
with  them,  and  so  become  the  children  of  light.  He  was 
come  as  a  light  into  the  world,  and  the  words  which  He 
spake  should  judge  those  who  rejected  Him  ;  for  those 
Avords  —  every  bi'ief  answer,  every  long  discourse  —  were 
from  the  Father  ;  sunbeams  from  the  Father  of  Lights  ; 
life-giving  rays  from  the  Life  Eternal. 

But  all  these  glorious  and  healing  truths  were  dull  to 
blinded  eyes,  and  dead  to  hardened  hearts  ;  and  even  the 
few  of  higher  rank  and  wider  culture  who  partially  under- 


PA LM  SUNDA  Y.  383 

stood  and  partially  believed  them,  yet  dared  not  confess 
Him,  because  to  confess  Him  was  to  incur  the  terrible 
cheremoi  the  Sanhedrin  ;  and  this  they  would  not  face  — 
loving  the  praise  of  men  more  than  the  praise  of  Clod. 

Thus  a  certain  sadness  and  sense  of  rejection  fell  even 
on  the  evening  of  the  Day  of  Triumph.  It  was  not  safe 
for  Jesus  to  stay  in  the  city,  nor  was  it  in  accordance  with 
His  wishes.  He  retired  secretly  from  the  Temple,  hid 
Himself  from  His  watchful  enemies,  and,  protected  as  yet 
outside  the  city  walls  by  the  enthusiasm  of  His  Galilaeau 
followers,  "  went  out  unto  Bethany  with  the  Twelve." 
But  it  is  very  probable  that  while  He  bent  His  steps  in 
the  direction  of  Bethany,  He  did  not  actually  enter  the 
village  ;  for,  on  this  occasion,  His  object  seems  to  have 
been  concealment,  which  would  hardly  have  been  secured 
by  returning  to  the  well-known  house  where  so  many  had 
seen  him  at  the  banquet  on  the  previous  evening.  It  is 
more  likely  that  He  sought  shelter  with  His  disciples  by 
the  olive-sprinkled  slope  of  the  hill,  not  far  from  the  spot 
where  the  roads  meet  which  lead  to  the  little  village.  He 
was  not  unaccustomed  to  nights  in  the  open  air,  and  He 
and  the  Apostles,  wrapped  in  their  outer  garments,  could 
sleep  soundly  and  peacefully  on  the  green  grass  under  the 
sheltering  trees.  The  shadow  of  the  traitor  fell  on  Him 
and  on  that  little  band.  Did  he  too  sleep  as  calmly  as  the 
rest?  Perhaps:  for,  as  Mr.  Fronde  says,  "remorse  may 
disturb  the  slumbers  of  a  man  who  is  dabbling  with  his 
first  experiences  of  wrong;  and  when  the  pleasure  has  been 
tasted  and  is  gone,  and  nothing  is  left  of  the  crime  but  the 
ruin  which  it  has  wrought,  then  too  the  Furies  take  their 
seats  upon  the  midnight  pillow.  But  the  meridian  of  evil 
is,  for  the  mostt  part,  hft  nnvexed ;  and  when  a  man  has 
chosen  his  road,  he  is  left  alone  to  follow  it  to  the  end. 


384  2'i/A'  LIFE  OF  CllliltiT. 

CHAPTER  L. 

MONDAY   IN    PASSION  WEEK— A    DAY   OF    PARABLES. 

KisiNG  from  llis  bivouac  in  the  neighborhood  of  Beth- 
any while  it  was  still  early,  Jesus  returned  at  once  to  the 
city  and  the  Temple;  and  on  His  way  He  felt  hungry.  Mon- 
day and  Thursday  were  ke[it  by  the  scrupulous  religionists 
of  the  day  as  voluntary  fasts,  and  to  this  the  Pharisee 
alludes  when  he  says  in  the  Parable,  "  I  fast  twice  in  the 
week."  But  this  fasting  was  a  mere  "  work  of  superero- 
gation," neither  commanded  nor  sanctioned  by  the  Law  or 
the  Prophets,  and  it  was  alien  alike  to  the  habits  and  pre- 
cepts of  One  who  came,  not  by  external  asceticisms,  but 
with  absolute  self-surrender,  to  ennoble  by  Divine  sinless- 
ness  the  common  life  of  men.  It  may  be  that  in  His  com- 
passionate earnestness  to  teach  His  people,  He  had  neg- 
lected the  common  wants  of  life  ;  it  may  be  that  there 
were  no  means  of  procuring  food  in  the  fields  where  He 
had  spent  the  niglit  ;  it  may  be  again  that  the  hour  of 
prayer  and  morning  sacrifice  had  not  yet  come,  before 
which  the  Jews  did  not  usually  take  a  meal.  But,  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  cause,  Jesus  hungered,  so  as  to 
be  driven  to  look  for  wayside  fruit  to  sustain  and  re- 
fresh Him  for  the  day's  work.  A  few  dates  or  figs,  a 
piece  of  black  bread,  a  draught  of  water,  are  sufficient  at 
any  time  for  an  Oriental's  simple  meal. 

There  are  trees  in  abundance  even  now  throughout  this 
region,  but  not  the  numerous  palms,  and  figs,  and  walnut 
trees  which  made  the  vicinity  of  Jerusalem  like  one  um- 
brageous park,  before  they  were  cut  down  by  Titus,  in  the 
operations  of  the  siege.  Fig-trees  especially  were  planted 
by  the  road -side,  because  the  dust  was  thought  to  facilitate 
their  growth,  and  their  refreshing  fruit  was  common 
property.  At  a  distance  in  front  of  Him  Jesus  caught 
sight  of  a  solitary  fig-tree,  and  although  the  ordinary 
season  at  which  figs  ripened  had  not  yet  arrived,  yet,  as  it 
was  clad  with  verdure,  and  as  the  fruit  of  a  fig  sets  before 
the  leaves  unfold,  this  tree  looked  more  than  usually 
promising.     Its  large  rich  leaves  seemed  to  show  it  was  not 


MONDA  7  IN  PASSION  WEEK.  385 

ouly  fruitful  but  precociously  vigorous.  There  was  every 
chance,  therefore,  of  finding  upon  it  either  the  late  violet- 
colored  kermouses,  or  autumn  figs,  that  often  remained 
hanging  on  the  trees  all  througli  the  winter,  and  even  until 
the  new  spring  leaves  had  come;  or  the  delicious  hakkooroth, 
the  first  ripe  on  the  fig-tree,  of  which  Orientals  are  par- 
ticularly fond.  The  difficulty  raised  about  St.  Mark's  ex- 
pression, that  "  the  time  of  figs  was  not  yet,"  is  wholly  need- 
less. On  the  plains  of  Gennesareth  Jesus  must  have  been 
accustomed — if  we  may  trust  Joseplius — to  see  the  tigs 
hanging  ripe  on  the  trees  every  month  in  the  year  except- 
ing January  and  February  ;  and  there  is  to  this  day,  in 
Palestine,  a  Icind  of  white  or  early  fig  which  ripens  in 
spring,  and  much  before  the  ordinary  or  black  fig.  On 
many  grounds,  therefore,  Jesus  might  well  have  expected 
to  find  a  few  figs  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hunger  on  this 
fair-promising  leafy  tree,  although  the  ordinary  fig-season 
had  not  yet  arrived. 

But  when  He  came  up  to  it,  He  was  disappointed.  The 
sap  was  circulating  ;  the  leaves  made  a  fair  show  ;  but  of 
fruit  there  was  none.  Fit  emblem  of  a  hypocrite,  whose 
external  semblance  is  a  delusion  and  a  sham — fit  emblem 
of  the  nation  in  whom  the  ostentatious  profession  of 
religion  brought  forth  no  "  fruit  of  good  living  " — the 
tree  was  barren.  And  it  was  Jiopelessly  barren  :  for  had  it 
been  fruitful  the  previous  year,  there  would  still  have  been 
some  of  the  kermouses  hidden  under  those  broad  leaves ; 
and  had  it  been  fruitful  this  year,  the  hakkooroth  would 
have  set  into  green  and  delicious  fragrance  before  the 
leaves  appeared ;  but  on  this  fruitless  tree  there  was 
neither  any  promise  for  the  future,  nor  any  gleanings  from 
the  past. 

And  therefore,  since  it  was  but  deceptive  and  useless,  a 
barren  cumberer  of  the  ground,  He  made  it  the  eternal 
warning  against  a  life  of  hypocrisy  continued  until  it  is 
too  late,  and,  in  the  hearing  of  His  disciples,  uttered  upon 
it  the  solemn  fiat,  "  Never  fruit  grow  upon  thee  more  I" 
Even  at  the  word,  such  infructuous  life  as  it  possessed  was 
arrested,  and  it  began  to  wither  away. 

The  criticisms  upon  this  miracle  have  been  singularly 
idle  and  singularly  irreverent,  because  they  have  been 
based  for  the  most  part  on  ignorance  or  on  prejudice.     By" 


386  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

those  who  reject  the  divinity  of  Jesus,  it  has  been  called  a 
penal  miracle,  a  miracle  of  vengeance,  a  miracle  of  un- 
worthy auger,  a  childish  exhibition  of  impatience  under 
disappointment,  an  uncultured  indignation  against  in- 
nocent Nature.  No  one,  I  suppose,  who  believes  that  the 
story  represents  a  real  and  miraculous  fact,  will  daringly 
arraign  the  motives  of  Him  who  performed  it ;  but  many 
argue  that  this  is  an  untrue  and  mistaken  story,  because  it 
narrates  what  they  regard  as  an  unworthy  display  of 
anger  at  a  slight  disappointment,  and  as  a  miracle  of 
destruction  which  violated  the  rights  of  the  supposed 
owner  of  the  tree,  or  of  the  multitude.  Bat,  as  to  the 
first  objection,  surely  it  is  amply  enougli  to  say  that  every 
page  of  the  New  Testament  shows  the  impossibility  of 
imagining  that  the  Apostles  and  Evangelists  liad  so  poor 
and  false  a  conception  of  Jesus  as  to  believe  that  He 
avenged  His  passing  displeasure  on  an  irresponsible  object. 
Would  He  who,  at  the  Tempter's  bidding,  refused  to 
satisfy  His  wants  by  turning  the  stones  of  the  wilderness 
into  bread,  be  represented  as  having  "flown  into  a  rage" 
— no  other  expression  is  possible — with  an  unconscious 
tree  ?  An  absurdity  so  irreverent  might  have  been  found 
in  the  Apocryphal  Gospels  ;  but  had  the  Evangelists  been 
capable  of  perpetrating  it,  then,  most  unquestionably, 
they  could  have  had  neither  the  capacity  nor  the  desire  to 
paint  that  Divine  and  Eternal  jDortrait  of  the  Lord  Jesus, 
which  their  knowledge  of  the  trutli,  and  the  aid  of  God's 
Holy  Spirit,  enabled  them  to  present  to  the  world  for 
ever,  as  its  most  priceless  possession.  And  as  for  the 
withering  of  the  tree,  has  the  householder  of  the  parable 
been  ever  severely  censured  because  he  said  of  his  barren 
fig-tree,  "Cut  it  down,  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?" 
Has  St.  John  the  Baptist  been  ever  blamed  for  violence 
and  destructiveness  because  he  cried,  "And  now  also  the 
ax  is  laid  unto  the  root  of  tlie  tree  :  every  tree,  therefore, 
whicii  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and 
cast  into  the  fire?"  Or  has  the  ancient  Prophet  been 
charged  with  misrepresenting  the  character  of  God,  when 
he  says,  "/,  the  Lord,  have  dried  up  the  green  tree,"  2i% 
well  us  "made  the  dry  tree  to  flourisli  ?"  When  the  hail 
beats  down  the  tendrils  of  the  vineyard  —  when  the 
lightning  scathes   the  olive,  or  "splits  the  unwedgeable 


MONDA  r  m  PASSION  WEEK.  38')' 

and  gnarled  oak" — do  any  but  the  utterly  ignorant  and 
brutal  begin  at  once  to  blaspheme  against  God  ?  Is  it  a 
crime  under  any  circumstances  to  destroy  a  w^'e/e*-*- tree  ? 
if  not,  is  it  more  a  crime  to  do  so  by  miracle  ?  Why, 
then,  is  the  Saviour  of  the  world — to  whom  Lebanon 
would  be  too  little  for  a  burnt-olforing — to  be  blamed  by 
petulant  critics  because  He  hastened  the  withering  of  one 
barren  tree,  and  founded,  on  the  destruction  of  its  use- 
lessness,  three  eternal  lessons — a  symbol  of  the  destruction 
of  impenitence,  a  warning  of  the  peril  of  hypocrisy,  an 
illustration  of  the  power  of  faith? 

They  went  on  tiieir  way,  and,  as  usual,  entered  the 
Temple  ;  and  scarcely  had  they  entered  it,  when  they 
were  met  by  another  indication  of  the  intense  incessant 
spirit  of  opposition  which  actuated  the  rulers  of  Jeru- 
salem. A  formidable  deputation  approached  them,  impos- 
ing alike  in  its  numbers  and  its  stateliness.  The  chief 
priests — heads  of  the  twenty-four  courses — the  learned 
scribes,  the  leading  rabbis,  representatives  of  all  the  con- 
stituent classes  of  the  Sanhedrin  were  there,  to  overawe 
Him — whom  they  despised  as  the  poor  ignorant  Prophet 
of  despicable  Xazareth — with  all  that  was  venerable  in 
age,  eminent  in  wisdom,  or  imposing  in  authority  in  the 
great  Council  of  the  nation.  Tiie  people  whom  He  was 
engaged  in  teaching  made  reverent  way  for  them,  lest  they 
should  pollute  those  floating  robes  and  ample  fringes  with 
a  touch  ;  and  when  they  had  arranged  themselves  around 
Jesus,  they  sternly  and  abruptly  asked  Him,  "  By  what 
authority  doest  thou  these  things,  and  who  gave  thee  this 
authority  ?"  They  demanded  of  Him  His  warrant  for 
thus  publicly  assuming  the  functions  of  Rabbi  and 
Prophet,  for  riding  into  Jerusalem  amid  the  hosannas  of 
attendant  crowds,  for  purging  the  Temple  of  the 
traffickers,  at  whose  presence  tiiey  connived? 

Tiie  answer  surprised  and  confounded  them.  With 
that  infinite  presence  of  mind,  of  which  the  world's 
history  furnishes  no  parallel,  and  which  remained  calm 
under  tlie  worst  assaults,  Jesus  told  them  that  the  answer 
to  their  question  depended  on  the  answer  which  they  were 
prepared  to  give  to  His  question.  "The  baptism  of  John, 
was  it  from  heaven,  or  of  men?"  A  sudden  pause 
followed.     "Answer  me,"   said  Jesus,  interrupting  their 


388  TlIK  LIFBJ  OF  CHRIST. 

whispered  colloquy.  And  surely  they.,  who  had  sent  a 
commission  to  inquire  publicly  into  the  claims  of  John, 
were  in  a  position  to  answer.  But  no  answer  came.  They 
knew  full  well  the  import  of  the  question.  They  could 
not  for  a  moment  put  it  aside  as  irrelevant.  John  had 
openly  and  emphatically  testified  to  Jesus,  had  ac- 
knowledged Him,  before  their  own  deputies,  not  only  as  a 
prophet,  but  as  a  prophet  far  greater  than  himself — nay, 
more,  as  the  Prophet,  the  Messiah.  Would  they  recog- 
nize that  authority,  or  would  they  not?  Clearly  Jesus  had 
a  right  to  demand  their  reply  to  that  question  before  He 
could  reply  to  tiieirs.  But  they  could  not,  or  rather  they 
woidd  not  answer  that  question.  It  reduced  them  in  fact 
to  a  coTuplete  dilemma.  They  woiild  not  say  "from 
heaven,"  because  they  had  in  heart  rejected  it  ;  they  dared 
not  say  "  of  men,"  hec'duse  the  belief  in  John  (as  we  see 
even  in  Josephus)  was  so  vehement  and  so  unanimous  that 
openly  to  reject  him  would  have  been  to  endanger  their 
personal  safety.  They  were  reduced,  therefore — they,  the 
masters  of  Israel — to  the  ignominious  necessity  of  saying, 
"We  cannot  tell." 

There  is  an  admirable  Hebrew  proverb  which  says, 
"Teach  thy  tongue  to  say,  'I  do  not  know.''"  But  to 
say  "  We  do  not  know "  in  this  instance,  was  a  thing 
utterly  alien  to  their  habits,  disgi'aceful  to  their  discern- 
ment, a  death-blow  to  their  pretensions.  It  was  ignorance 
in  a  sphere  wherein  ignorance  was  for  them  inexcusable. 
They,  the  appointed  explainers  of  the  Law — they,  the  ac- 
cepted teachers  of  the  people — they,  the  acknowledged 
monopolizers  of  Scriptural  learning  and  oral  tradition — and 
yet  to  be  compelled,  against  tiieir  real  convictions,  to  say,  and 
that  before  the  multitude,  that  they  coiild  not  tell  whether 
a  man  of  immense  and  sacred  influence — a  man  who 
acknowledged  the  Scriptures  which  they  explained,  and 
carried  into  practice  the  customs  which  they  reverenced — 
Avas  a  divinely  inspired  messenger  or  a  deluding  imposter  ! 
Were  the  lines  of  demarcation,  then,  between  the  inspired 
Prophet  (;i«Z'^)  and  the  wicked  seducer  [mesith)  so  dubious 
and  indistinct?  It  was  indeed  a  fearful  humiliation,  and 
one  which  they  never  either  forgot  or  forgave  !  And  yet 
how  just  was  the  retribution  which  tliey  had  thus  brought 
on  their  own  heads  I     The  curses  which  they  had  intended 


MONDA  T  IN  PASSION  WEEK.  389 

for  another  had  recoiled  upon  themselves  ;  the  pompous 
question  which  was  to  be  an  engine  wherewith  another 
should  be  crushed,  liad  sprung  back  with  sudden  rebound, 
to  their  own  confusion  and  shame. 

Jesus  did  not  press  upon  their  discomfiture — though  He 
well  knew — as  the  form  of  his  answer  sliowed — that  their 
"do  not  know  "  wns  a  " do  not  choose  to  say."  Since, 
however,  their  failure  to  answer  clearly  absolved  Him 
from  any  necessity  to  tell  them  further  of  an  authority 
about  which,  by  their  own  confession,  they  were  totally 
incompetent  to  decide.  He  ended  the  scene  by  simply 
saying,  "Xeither  tell  I  you  by  what  authority  I  do  these 
things." 

So  they  retired  a  little  into  the  background.  He  con- 
tinued the  instruction  of  the  people  which  they  had  inter- 
rupted, and  began  once  more  to  speak  to  them  in  parables, 
which  both  the  multitude  and  the  members  of  the 
Sanhedrin  who  were  present  could  hardly  fail  to  under- 
stand. And  he  expressly  called  tlieir  attention  to  what  He 
Avas  about  to  say,  "  What  think  ye?"  He  asked,  for  now 
it  is  their  turn  to  submit  to  be  questioned  ;  and  then, 
telling  them  of  the  two  sons,  of  whom  the  one  first  flatly 
refused  his  father's  bidding,  but  afterward  repented  and 
did  it,  the  other  blandly  promised  an  obedience  which  he 
never  performed.  He  asked,  •'  Which  of  these  two  did  his 
father's  will?"  They  could  but  answer  the  "first;"  and 
He  then  pointed  out  to  them  the  plain  and  solemn  mean- 
ing of  their  own  answer.  It  was,  that  tlie  very  publicans 
and  harlots,  despite  the  apparent  open  shamelessness  of 
their  disobedience,  were  yet  showing  them  —  them,  the 
scrupulous  and  iiiglily  reputed  legalists  of  the  holy  nation 
—  the  way  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Yes,  these 
sinners,  wliom  they  despised  and  hated,  were  streaming 
before  them  though  the  door  which  was  not  yet  shut. 
For  John  had  come  to  these  Jews  on  their  own  principles 
and  in  their  own  practice,  and  tliey  had  pretended  to 
receive  him,  but  had  not ;  but  the  publicans  and  tlie 
harlots  hud  repented  at  his  bidding.  For  all  their  broad 
fringes  and  conspicuous  phylacteries,  they — the  priests, 
the  separatists,  tlie  Kabbis  of  these  people — were  ivorse  in 
the  sight  of  God  than  sinners  whom  they  would  have 
scorned  to  touch  with  one  of  their  fingers. 


390  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Then  He  bade  them  'Miear  anotlier  parable/' the  parable 
of  the  rebellious  Hiisbandtnen  in  the  vineyard,  whose  fruits 
they  would  not  yield.  That  vineyard  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
was  the  house  of  Israel,  and  the  men  of  Judah  were  His 
pleasant  plants;  and  they,  the  leaders  and  teachers,  were 
those  to  whom  the  Lord  of  the  vineyard  would  naturally 
look  for  the  rendering  of  the  produce.  But  in  spite  of  all 
that  He  had  done  for  His  viueyard,  there  were  no  grapes, 
or  only  wild  grapes.  "  He  looked  for  judgment,  but 
behold  oppression  ;  for  righteousness,  hut  behold  a  cry." 
And  since  tliey  could  not  render  any  produce,  and  dared 
not  own  the  barren  fruitlessness,  for  which  they,  the 
husbandmen,  were  responsible,  they  insulted,  and  beat, 
and  wounded,  and  slew  messenger  after  messenger  whom 
the  Lord  of  the  viueyard  sent  to  them.  Last  of  all,  He 
sent  His  Son,  and  that  Son — thougli  they  I'ecognized  Him, 
and  could  not  but  recognize  Him — they  beat,  and  flung 
forth,  and  slew.  When  the  Lord  of  the  vineyard  came, 
what  would  He  ilo  to  them  ?  Either  the  people,  out  of 
honest  conviction  or  the  listening  Pharisees,  to  show  their 
apparent  contempt  for  what  they  could  not  fail  to  see  was 
the  point  of  the  parable,  answered  that  He  would  wretch- 
edly destroy  those  wretches,  and  let  out  the  vineyard  to 
worthier  and  more  faithful  husbandmen.  A  second  time 
they  had  been  compelled  to  an  admission,  which  fatally, 
out  of  their  own  mouths,  condemned  themselves  ;  they 
had  confessed  with  their  own  lips  that  it  would  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  God's  Justice  to  deprive  them  of  their 
exclusive  rights,  and  to  give  them  to  the  Gentiles. 

And  to  show  them  that  their  own  Scriptures  had  proph- 
esied of  this  their  conduct.  He  asked  them  whether  they 
had  never  read  (in  the  118th  Psalm)  of  the  stone  which 
the  builders  rejected,  which  nevertheless,  by  the  mar- 
velous purpose  of  God,  became  the  headstone  of  the 
corner  ?  How  could  they  remain  builders  any  longer, 
when  the  whole  design  of. their  workmanship  was  thus 
deliberately  overruled  and  set  aside?  Did  not  their  old 
Messianic  prophecy  clearly  imply  that  God  would  call 
other  builders  to  the  work  of  His  Temple?  Woe  to  them 
who  even  stumbled — as  they  were  doing — at  that  rejected 
stone;  but  even  yet  there  was  time  for  them  to  avoid  the 
more  crushing  annihilation  of   those  on  whom  that  stone 


MONDA  T  IN  PASSION  WEEK.  391 

should  fall.  To  reject  Him  in  His  humanity  anrl  humilia- 
tion involved  pain  and  loss;  but  to  be  found  still  rejecting 
Him  when  He  siiould  come  again  in  His  glory,  would  not 
this  be  "■  utter  destruction  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord?" 
To  sit  on  the  seat  of  judgment  and  condemn  Him — this 
should  be  ruin  to  them  and  their  nation  ;  but  to  be  con- 
demned by  Him,  would  not  this  be  to  be  "  ground  to 
powder?" 

They  saw  now,  more  clearly  than  ever,  the  whole  bent 
and  drift  of  these  parables,  and  longed  for  the  hour  of  venge- 
ance !  But,  as  yet,  fear  restrained  them  5  for,  to  the 
multitude,  Christ  was  still  a  prophet. 

One  more  warning  utterance  He  spoke  on  this  Day  of 
Parables — the  Parable  of  the  Marriage  of  the  King's  Son. 
In  its  basis  and  framework  it  closely  resembled  the  Parable 
of  the  Great  Supper  uttered,  during  His  last  journey,  at  a 
Pharisee's  house  ;  but  in  many  of  its  details,  and  in  its 
entire  conclusion,  it  was  different.  Here  the  ungrateful 
subjects  who  receive  the  invitation,  not  only  make  light  of 
it,  and  pursue  undisturbed  their  worldly  avocations,  but 
some  of  them  actually  insult  and  murder  the  messenger 
who  had  invited  them,  and — a  point  at  which  the  history 
merges  into  prophecy — are  destroyed  and  their  city  burned'. 
And  the  rest  of  the  story  points  to  yet  further  scenes, 
pregnant  with  still  deeper  meanings.  Others  are  invited; 
tlie  wedding  feast  is  furnished  with  guests  both  bad  and 
good;  the  king  comes  in,  and  notices  one  who  had  thrust 
himself  into  the  company  in  his  own  rags,  without  pro- 
viding or  accepting  the  wedding  garment,  which  the 
commonest  courtesy  required. 

This  rude  intruding  presumptuous  guest  is  cast  forth  by 
attendant  angels  into  outer  darkness,  wliere  shall  be  weep- 
ing and  gnashing  of  teeth;  and  then  follows,  for  the  last 
time,  the  warning  urged  in  varying  similitudes,  with  a 
frequency  commensurate  to  its  importance,  that  **niany 
are  called,  but  few  are  chosen." 

Teachings  so  obvious  in  their  import  filled  the  minds  of 
the  leading  Priests  and  Pharisees  with  a  more  and  more 
bitter  rage.  He  had  begun  the  day  by  refusing  to  answer 
their  dictatorial  question,  and  by  more  than  justifying  that 
refusal.  His  counter-question  had  not  only  shown  His 
calm  superiority  to  the  influence  which  they  so  haughtily 


392  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

exercised  over  the  people,  but  had  reduced  them  to  the 
ignoiuiuions  silence  of  an  hypocrisy  which  was  forced  to 
shield  itself  under  the  excuse  of  incompetence.  Then  fol- 
lowed Ills  parables.  In  the  first  of  these  He  had  con- 
victed them  of  false  professions,  unaccompanied  by  action; 
in  the  second.  He  had  depicted  the  trust  and  responsibility 
of  their  office,  and  had  indicated  a  terrible  retribution  for 
its  cruel  and  profligate  abuse;  in  the  third,  He  had  indi- 
cated alike  the  punishment  which  would  ensue  upon  a 
violent  rejection  of  His  invitations,  and  the  impossibility 
of  deceiving  the  eye  of  His  Heavenly  Father  by  a  mere 
nomiiuil  and  pretended  acceptance.  Lying  lip-service, 
faithless  rebellion,  blind  presumption,  such  were  the 
sins  which  He  had  striven  to  bring  home  to  their 
consciences.  And  this  was  but  a  superficial  outline 
of  all  the  heart-searching  power  with  which  His  words 
had  been  to  them  like  a  sword  of  the  Spirit,  piercing  even 
to  the  dividing  of  the  joints  and  marrow.  But  to  bad  men 
nothing  is  so  maddening  as  the  exhibition  of  their  own 
self-deception.  So  great  was  the  hardly-concealed  fury  of 
the  Jewish  hierarchy,  that  they  would  gladly  have  seized 
Him  that  very  hour.  Fear  restrained  them,  and  He  was 
suffered  to  retire  unmolested  to  His  quiet  resting-place. 
But,  either  that  night  or  early  on  the  following  morning, 
His  enemies  held  another  council  —  at  this  time  they  seem 
to  have  held  thetn  almost  daily  —  to  see  if  they  could  not 
make  one  more  combined,  systematic,  overwhelming  effort 
"to  entangle  Him  in  His  talk,"  to  convict  Him  of  igno- 
rance or  of  error,  to  shake  His  credit  with  the  multitude, 
or  embroil  Him  in  dangerous  relations  toward  the  civil 
authority.  We  shall  see  in  the  following  chapter  the 
result  of  their  machinations. 


THE  DAT  OF  TEMPTATIONS.  393 


CHAPTEK  LT. 

THE    DAY    OF    TEMPTATIONS  S  —  THE    LAST    AND    GREATEST 
DAY   OF   THE    PUBLIC    MINISTRY   OF   JESUS. 

On  the  following  morning  Jesus  rose  with  His  (iisciples 
to  enter  for  the  last  time  the  Temple  Courts.  Ou  their 
way  they  passed  the  solitary  fig-tree,  no  longer  gay  with 
its  false  leafy  garniture,  but  shriveled,  from  the  root  up- 
ward, in  every  bough.  The  quick  eye  of  Peter  was  tlie 
first  to  notice  it,  and  he  exclaimed,  "Master,  behold  the 
fig-tree  which  thou  cursedst  is  withered  away."  The  dis- 
ciples stopped  to  look  at  it,  and  to  express  their  astonish- 
ment at  the  rapidity  with  which  the  denunciation  had  been 
fulfilled.  What  struck  them  most  \\\i^t\\e  power  of  Jesus; 
the  deeper  meanings  of  His  symbolic  act  they  seem  for  the 
time  to  have  missed;  and,  leaving  these  lessons  to  dawn 
npon  them  gradually,  Jesus  addressed  the  mood  of  their 
minds  at  the  moment,  and  told  them  that  if  they  would 
but  have  faith  in  God  —  faith  which  should  enable  them 
to  offer  up  their  prayers  witli  perfect  and  unwavering  con- 
fidence—  they  should  not  only  be  able  to  perform  such  a 
wonder  as  that  done  to  the  fig-ti'ee,  but  even  "  if  they 
bade  this  mountain'* — and  as  He  spoke  He  may  have 
pointed  either  to  Olivet  or  to  Moriah  —  "  to  be  removed, 
and  cast  into  the  sea,  it  should  obey  them."  But,  since  in 
this  one  instance  the  power  liad  been  put  forth  to  destroy, 
He  added  a  very  important  warning.  They  were  not  to 
suppose  that  this  emblematic  act  gave  them  any  license  to 
wield  the  sacred  powers  which  faith  and  prayer  would 
bestow  on  them,  for  purposes  of  anger  or  vengeance;  nay, 
no,  power  was  possible  to  tlie  heart  that  knew  not  how  to 
forgive,  and  the  unforgivi/ig  heart  could  never  be  forgiven. 
The  sword,  and  the  famine,  and  the  pestilence  were  to  be 
no  instruments  for  them  to  wield,  nor  were  they  even  to 
dream  of  evoking  against  their  enemies  the  fire  of  heaven 
or  the  "icy  wind  of  death."  The  secret  of  successful 
prayer  was  faith;  the  road  to  faith  in  God  lay  through  par- 
don of  transgression;  pardon  was  possible  to  them  alone 
who  were  ready  to  pardon  others. 


394  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

He  was  scarcel}'  seated  in  the  Temple  when  tlie  result  of 
the  machinations  of  His  enemies  on  the  previous  evening 
showed  itself  in  a  new  kind  of  strategy,  involving  one  of 
the  most  perilous  and  deeply  laid  of  all  the  schemes  to 
entrap  and  ruin  Him.  The  deadly  nature  of  the  plot 
appeared  in  the  fact  tliat,  to  carry  it  out,  the  Pharisees 
were  united  in  ill-omened  conjunction  with  the  Herodians; 
so  that  two  parties,  usually  ranked  against  each  otlier  in 
strong  opposition,  were  now  reconciled  in  a  conspiracy  for 
the  ruin  of  their  common  enemy.  Devotees  md  syco- 
phants—  hierarcliical  scrupulosity  and  political  indiffer- 
entism  —  the  scliool  of  theocratic  zeal  and  the  school  of 
crafty  expediency  —  were* thus  united  to  dismay  and  per- 
plex Him.  The  Herodians  occur  but  seldom  in  the  Gospel 
narrative.  Their  very  designation  —  a  Latinized  adjective 
applied  to  the  Greek-speaking  courtiers  of  an  Edomite 
prince  wlio,  by  Roman  intervention,  had  become  a  Judsean 
king  — showed  at  once  their  liybrid  origin.  Their  existence 
had  mainly  a  jwo/zYiCrtZ  significance,  and  they  stood  outside 
the  current  of  religious  life,  except  so  far  as  their  Hel- 
lenizing  tendencies  and  worldly  interests  led  them  to  show 
an  ostentatious  disregard  for  the  Mosaic  law.  They  were, 
in  fact,  mere  provincial  courtiers;  men  who  basked  in  the 
sunshine  of  a  petty  tyranny  which,  for  their  own  personal 
ends,  they  were  anxious  to  uphold.  To  strengthen  the 
family  of  Herod  by  keeping  it  on  good  terms  with  Roman 
imperialism,  and  to  effect  this  good  undei'standing  by  re- 
pressing every  distinctively  Jewish  aspiration  —  this  was 
their  highest  aim.  And  in  order  to  do  this  tliey  Graecised 
their  Semitic  names,  adopted  ethnic  habits,  frequented 
amplii theaters,  familiarly  accepted  the  symbols  of  heathen 
supremacy,  even  went  so  far  as  to  obliterate,  by  such  arti- 
ficial means  as  they  could,  the  distinctive  and  covenant 
symbol  of  Hebi-ew  nationality.  That  the  Pharisees  should 
tolerate  even  the  most  temporary  partnership  with  such 
men  as  these,  whose  very  existence  was  a  violent  outrage 
on  their  most  cherished  prejudices,  enables  us  to  gauafo 
more  accurately  the  extreme  virulence  of  hatred  with 
which  Jesus  had  inspired  them.  And  that  hatred  was 
destined  to  become  deadlier  still.  It  was  already  at  red- 
hoat;  the  words  and  deeds  of  this  day  were  to  raise  it  to 
its  whitest  intensity  of  wrath. 


THE  DAY  OF  TEMPTATIONS.  395 

The  Hei'odians  might  come  before  Jesus  without  raisiug 
a  suspicion  of  sinister  motives  ;  but  the  Pharisees,  astutely 
anxious  to  put  Him  off  his  guard,  did  not  come  to  Him  in 
person.  They  sent  some  of  their  younger  scholars,  who 
(already  adepts  in  hypocrisy)  were  to  approach  Him  as 
though  in  all  the  guileless  simplicity  of  an  inquiring  spirit. 
They  evidently  designed  to  raise  the  impression  that  a  dis- 
pute had  occurred  between  them  and  the  Herodians,  and 
that  they  desired  to  settle  it  by  referring  the  decision  of 
the  question  at  issue  to  the  final  and  higher  authority  of 
the  Great  Prophet.  They  came  to  Him  circumspectly, 
deferentially,  courteously.  "  Rabbi,"  they  said  to  Him 
with  flattering  earnestness,  "  we  know  that  thou  art  true, 
and  teachest  the  way  of  God  in  truth,  neither  carest  Thou 
for  any  man  ;•  for  Thou  regardest  not  the  person  of  men." 
It  was  as  though  they  would  entreat  Him,  without  fear  or 
favor,  confidentially  to  give  them  His  private  opinion  ; 
and  as  though  they  really  wanted  His  opinion  for  their  own 
guidance  in  a  moral  question  of  practical  importance,  and 
were  quite  sure  that  He  alone  could  resolve  their  distressing 
uncertainty.  But  why  all  this  sly,  undulatory  approach 
and  serpentine  ensalivation?  The  forked  tongue  and  the 
envenomed  fang  appeared  in  a  moment.  "Tell  us,  there- 
fore." since  you  are  so  wise,  so  true,  so  courageous — "  tell 
us,  therefore,  is  it  lawful  to  give  tribute  to  Csesar,  or  not?'* 
This  capitation  tax,  which  we  all  so  much  detest,  but  the 
legality  of  which  these  Herodians  support,  ought  we,  or 
ought  we  not,  to  pay  it?  Which  of  us  is  in  the  right? — 
we  wlio  loathe  and  resent,  or  the  Herodians  who  delight 
in  it? 

He  must,  tliey  thought,  answer  "Yes"  or  "Ko;"  there 
is  no  possible  escape  from  a  plain  question  so  cautiously, 
sincerely  and  respectfully  put.  Perhaps  he  will  answer, 
"  Yes,  it  is  lawful."  If  so,  all  apprehension  of  Him  on 
the  part  of  the  Herodians  will  be  removed,  for  then  He 
will  not  be  likely  to  endanger  them  or  their  views.  For 
although  there  is  something  which  looks  dangerous  in  this 
common  enthusiasm  for  Him,  yet  if  One,  whom  they  take 
to  be  the  Messiah,  should  opeidy  adhere  to  a  heathen 
tyranny,  and  sanction  its  most  galling  imposition,  such  a 
decision  will  at  once  explode  and  evaporate  any  regard 
which  tlie  people  may  feel  for  Him.    If,  on  the  other  hand. 


396  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

as  is  all  but  certain,  He  should  adopt  the  views  of  His 
countryman,  Judas  the  Guulonite,  and  ansvv^er,  ''No,  it  is 
not  lawful,"  then,  in  that  case  too,  we  are  equally  rid  of 
Him  ;  for  then  He  is  in  open  rebellion  against  the  Roman 
power,  and  these  new  Herodian  friends  of  ours  can  at  once 
hand  Him  over  to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Procurator. 
Pontius  Pilatus  will  deal  very  roughly  with  His  pretensions, 
and  will,  if  need  be,  without  the  slightest  hesitation,  mingle 
His  blood,  as  he  has  done  the  blood  of  other  Galileans, 
with  the  blood  of  the  sacrifices. 

They  must  have  awaited  the  answer  with  breathless  in- 
terest ;  but  even  if  they  succeeded  in  concealing  the  hate 
which  gleamed  in  their  eyes,  Jesus  at  once  saw  the  sting 
and  heard  the  hiss  of  the  Pharisaic  serpent.  They  had 
fawned  on  Him  with  their  "Rabbi,"  and  "true,"  and 
'•'  impartial,"  and  "fearless;"  He  "  blights  them  with  the 
flash  "  of  one  indignant  word,  "  Hyj)Ocrites!"  That  word 
must  have  undeceived  their  hopes,  and  crumbled  their 
craftiness  into  dust.  "  Why  tempt  ye  me,  ye  hypocrites  ? 
Bring  me  the  tribute-money."  They  would  not  be  likely 
to  carry  with  them  the  hated  Roman  coinage  with  its 
heathen  symbols,  tiiough  they  might  have  been  at  once 
able  to  produce  from  their  girdles  the  Temple  shekel.  But 
they  would  only  have  to  step  outside  the  Court  of  the  Gen- 
tiles, and  borrow  from  the  money  changers'  tables  a  cur- 
rent Roman  coin.  While  the  people  stood  round  in  won- 
dering silence  they  brought  Him  a  denarius,  and  put  it  in 
His  hand.  On  one  side  were  stamped  the  haughty,  beau- 
tiful features  of  the  Emperor  Tiberius,  with  all  the  wicked 
scorn  upon  the  lip  ;  on  the  obverse  his  title  of  Pontifex 
Maximns!  It  was  probably  due  to  mere  accident  that  the 
face  of  the  cruel,  dissolute  tyrant  was  on  this  particular 
coin,  for  the  Romans,  with  that  half-contemptuous  con- 
cession to  national  superstitions  which  characterized  their 
rule,  had  allowed  the  Jews  to  have  struck  for  their  partic- 
ular use  a  coinage  which  recorded  the  name  without  bear- 
ing the  likeness  of  the  reigning  emperor.  "  Whose  image 
and  superscription  is  this?"  He  asked.  They  say  unto 
Him,  "  Csesar's."  There,  then,  was  the  simplest  possible 
solution  of  their  cunning  question,  "  Render,  therefore, 
unto  Ccesar  tlie  things  that  are  Ccesar's."  That  alone 
might    have    been    enough,    for    it    implied    that    their 


THE  DA  Y  OF  TEMPTATIONS.  397 

national  acceptance  of  this  coinage  answered  their  ques- 
tion and  revealed  its  enij^tiness.  Tlio  very  word  which  He 
nsed  conveyed  the  lesson.  They  had  asked,  "Is  it  laAvful 
to  give"  {Sovvai)?  He  corrects  them,  and  says,  "Eender" 
— "Give  back"  {dnddore).  It  Avas  not  a  voluntary  gift, 
but  a  legal  due  ;  not  a  cheerful  offering  but  a  political 
necessity.  It  was  perfectly  understood  among  the  Jews, 
and  was  laid  down  in  the  distinctest  language  by  their 
greatest  Rabbis  in  later  days,  that  to  accept  the  coinage  of 
any  king  was  to  acknowledge  his  supremacy.  By  accept- 
ing the  denarius,  therefore,  as  a  current  coin,  they  were 
openly  declaring  that  C8esar  was  their  sovereign,  and  they 
— the  very  best  of  them — had  settled  the  question  that  it 
was  lawful  to  pay  the  poll-tax  by  habitually  doing  so.  It 
was  their  duty,  then,  to  obey  the  power  which  they  had 
deliberately  chosen,  and  the  tax,  under  those  circum- 
stances, only  represented  an  equivalent  for  the  advan- 
tages which  they  received.  But  Jesus  could  not  leave 
them  with  this  lesson  only.  He  added  the  far  deeper 
and  weightier  words — ''and  to  God  the  things  that  are 
God's."  To  Csesar  you  owe  the  coin  which  you  have 
admitted  as  the  symbol  of  his  authority,  and  which  bears 
his  image  and  superscription  ;  to  God  you  owe  yourselves. 
Nothing  can  more  fully  reveal  the  depth  of  hypocrisy  in 
these  Pharisaic  questioners  than  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of 
the  Divine  answer,  and  in  spite  of  their  own  secret  and 
cherished  convictions,  they  yet  make  it  a  ground  of  clam- 
orous accusation  against  Jesus,  that  He  had  "forbidden 
to  give  tribute  unto  Ccesar!"  (Luke  xxiii.  2.) 

Amazed  and  humiliated  at  the  sudden  and  total  frustra- 
tion of  a  plan  which  seemed  irresistible — compelled,  in 
spite  of  themselves,  to  admire  the  guileless  wisilom  which 
had  in  an  instant  broken  loose  from  the  meshes  of  their 
sophistical  malice — they  sullenly  retired.  There  was  noth- 
ing which  even  they  could  take  hold  of  in  His  words. 
But  now,  undeterred  by  this  striking  failure,  the  Sad- 
ducees  thought  that  tliey  might  have  better  success. 
There  was  something  more  superciHous  and  off-hand  in  the 
question  which  they  proposed,  and  they  came  in  a  spirit 
of  less  burning  hatred,  but  of  more  sneering  scorn. 
Hitherto  these  cold  Epicureans  had,  for  the  most  part, 
despised  and  ignored  the  Prophet  of  Nazareth.     Supported 


308  TitB  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

as  a  sect  by  tlie  adhesion  of  some  of  the  higliest  priests, 
as  well  as  by  some  of  the  wealthiest  citizens  —  on 
better  terms  than  the  Pharisees  both  witli  the  Ilerodiaii 
and  the  Roman  power — they  were,  up  to  this  time, 
less  terribly  in  earnest,  and  proposed  to  themselves  no 
more  important  aim  than  to  vex  Jesus,  by  reducing  Him 
into  a  confession  of  difficulty.  So  they  came  with  an  old 
stale  piece  of  casuistry,  conceived  in  the  same  spirit  of 
self-complacent  ignorance  as  are  many  of  the  objections 
urged  by  modern  Sadducees  against  the  resurrection  of 
the  body,  but  still  sufficiently  puzzling  to  furnish  them 
with  an  argument  in  favor  of  their  disbeliefs,  and  with  a 
"difficulty"  to  throw  in  the  way  of  their  opponents.  Ad- 
dressing Jesus  with  mock  respect,  they  called  His  atten- 
tion to  the  Mosaic  institution  of  levirate  marriages,  and 
then  stated,  as  though  it  had  actually  occurred,  a  coarse 
imaginary  case,  in  which,  on  the  death  without  issue  of 
an  eldest  brother,  the  widow  had  been  espoused  in  succes- 
sion by  the  six  younger  brethren,  all  of  whom  had  died 
one  after  another,  leaving  the  widow  still  surviving. 
''  Whose  wife  in  the  resurrection,  when  people  shall  rise," 
they  scoffingly  ask,  "  shall  this  sevenfold  widow  be  ?" 
The  Pharisees,  if  we  may  judge  from  Talmudical  writings, 
had  already  settled  the  question  in  a  very  obvious  way,  and 
quite  to  tlieir  own  satisfaction,  by  saying  that  she  should 
in  the  resurrection  be  the  wife  of  the  first  husband.  And 
even  if  Jesus  had  given  such  a  poor  answer  as  this,  it  is 
difficult  to  see — since  the  answer  had  been  sanctioned  by 
men  most  highly  esteemed  for  their  wisdom — how  the 
Sadducees  could  have  shaken  the  force  of  the  reply,  or 
what  they  would  have  gained  by  having  put  their  inane 
and  materialistic  question.  But  Jesus  was  content  with  no 
such  answer,  though  even  Hillel  and  Shammai  might  have 
been.  Even  when  the  idioms  and  figures  of  His  language 
constantly  resembled  that  of  previous  or  contemporary 
teachers  of  His  nation.  His  spirit  and  precepts  difl'er 
from  theirs  toto  caelo.  He  might,  had  He  been  like  any 
other  merely  human  teacher,  have  treated  the  question 
with  that  contemptuous  scorn  which  it  deserved;  but  the 
spirit  of  scorn  is  alien  from  tlie  spirit  of  the  dove,  ami 
with  no  contempt  He  gave  to  their  conceited  and  eristic 
dilemma  a  most  profound  reply.    Though  the  question  came 


THE  DAT  OF  TEMPTATIONS.  399 

upon  Him  most  unexpectedly,  His  answer  was  everlast- 
ingly memorable.  It  opened  the  gates  of  Paradise  so 
■widely  that  men  might  see  therein  more  than  they  had  ever 
seen  before/and  it  fiirnislied  against  one  of  the  commonest 
forms  of  disbelief  an  argument  that  neither  Eabbi  nor 
Prophet  had  conceived.  He  did  not  answer  these  Sad- 
ducees  with  the  same  concentrated  sternness  which  marked 
His  reply  to  the  Pharisees  and  Herodians,  because  their 
purpose  betrayed  rather  an  insipid  frivolity  than  a 
deeply-seated  malice  ;  but  He  told  them  that  they  erred 
from  ignorance,  partly  of  the  Scriptures,  and  partly 
of  the  power  of  God,  Had  tiiey  not  been  ignorant 
of  the  power  of  God,  they  would  not  have  imagined 
that  the  life  of  the  children  of  tlie  resurrection  was  a  mere 
reflex  and  repetition  of  the  life  of  the  children  of  this  world. 
In  that  heaven  beyond  the  grave,  though  love  remains, 
yet  all  the  mere  eartiilinesses  of  human  relationship  are 
sujjerseded  and  transfigured.  "They  that  shall  be  ac- 
counted worthy  to  obtain  that  world,  and  the  resurrection 
from  the  dead,  neitlier  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage  ; 
neither  can  they  die  any  more  ;  but  are  equal  unto  the 
angels;  and  are  the  children  of  God,  being  the  children  of 
the  resurrection."  Then  as  to  their  ignorance  of  Scrip- 
ture, He  asked  if  they  had  never  read  in  that  section  of 
the  Book  of  Exodus  which  was  called  '•'  the  Bush,"  how 
God  had  described  Himself  to  their  great  lawgiver  as  the 
God  of  Abraham,  and  the  God  of  Isaac,  and  the  God  of 
Jacob.  How  unworthy  would  such  a  title  have  been,  had 
Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob  then  been  but  gray  handfuls 
of  crumbling  dust,  or  dead  bones,  which  should  moulder  in 
the  Hittite's  cave!  "He  is  not  the  God  of  tiie  dead,  but 
the  God  of  the  living :  ye  therefore  do  greatly  err." 
Would  it  have  been  possible  that  He  should  deign  to  call 
Himself  the  God  of  dust  and  ashes  ?  How  new,  how 
luminous,  how  profound  a  principle  of  Scriptural  interpre- 
tation was  this  !  The  Sadducees  had  probably  supposed 
that  the  words  simply  meant,  "  I  am  the  God  in  whom 
Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob  trusted  ;"  yet  how  shallow 
a  designation  would  that  have  been,  and  how  little  adapted 
to  inspire  the  faith  and  courage  requisite  for  an  lieroic  en- 
terprise !  "I  am  the  God  in  wliom  Abraham  and  Isaac 
and  Jacob  trusted  ;"  and  to   what,  if  there  were  no  resur- 


400  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

rection,  had  their  trust  come?  To  death,  and  nothing- 
ness, and  au  everhistiug  silence,  and  '*a  laud  of  darkness, 
as  darkness  itself,"  after  a  life  so  full  of  trials  that  the 
last  of  these  patriarchs  had  described  it  as  a  pilgrimage  of 
few  and  evil  years  !  But  God  meant  more  than  this.  He 
meant — and  so  the  Son  of  God  interpreted  it — that  He 
who  helps  them  who  trust  Him  here,  will  be  their  help 
and  stay  forever  and  forever,  nor  shall  the  future  world 
become  for  them  '^a  land  where  all  things  are  forgotten." 


CHAPTER  LII. 

THE   GKEAT   DENUNCIATION". 

All  who  heard  them — even  the  supercilious  Sadducees — 
must  have  been  solemnized  by  these  high  answers.  The 
listening  multitude  were  both  astonished  and  delighted  ; 
even  some  of  the  Scribes,  pleased  by  the  spiritual  refu- 
tation of  a  scepticism  which  their  reasonings  had  been 
unable  to  remove,  could  not  refrain  from  the  grateful  ac- 
knowledgment, "Master,  thou  hast  well  said."  The 
more  than  human  wisdom  and  insight  of  these  replies 
created,  even  among  His  enemies,  a  momentary  diversion 
in  His  favor.  But  once  more  the  insatiable  spirit  of 
casuistry  and  dissension  awoke,  and  this  time  a  Scribe,  a 
student  of  the  Torah,  thought  that  he  too  would  try  to 
fathom  the  extent  of  Christ's  learning  and  wisdom.  He 
asked  a  question  which  instantly  betrayed  a  false  and  un- 
spiritual  point  of  view,  "Master,  which  is  the  great  com- 
mandment in  the  Law?"' 

The  Rabbinical  schools,  in  their  meddling,  carnal  super- 
ficial spirit  of  word-weaving  and  letter-worship,  had  spun 
large  accumulations  of  worthless  subtlety  all  over  the 
Mosaic  law.  Among  other  things  they  had  wasted  their 
idleness  in  fantastic  attempts  to  count,  and  classify,  and 
weigh,  and  measure,  all  the  separate  commandments  of  the 
ceremonial  and  moral  law.  They  had  come  to  the  sapient 
conclusion  that  there  were  248  affirmative  precepts,  being  as 
many  as  the  merabers  in  the  human  body,  and  365  negative 
precepts,  being  as  many  as  the  arteries  and  veins,  or  the 
days  of  the  year  :  the  total   being  G13,  which  was  also  the 


THE  ORE  A  T  DKNUNCTA  TION.  401 

number  of  letters  in  the  Decalogue.  They  arrived  at  the 
same  result  from  the  fact  that  tlie  iQ\s-i>,  were  couimauded 
(Num.  XV.  38)  to  wear  fringes  {tdtsith)  on  the  corners  of 
their  talltth,  bound  with  a  thread  of  blue  ;  and  as  each 
fringe  had  eight  threads  and  five  knots,  aiul  the  letters  of 
the  word  tsUsith  make  600,  the  total  number  of  command- 
ments was,  as  before,  613.  Now  surely,  out  of  such  a 
lai'ge  number  of  precepts  and  prohibitions,  all  could  not 
be  of  quite  the  same  vahie  ;  some  were  "light"  {Jcal),  and 
some  were  "heavy"  {Tcohlml).  But  which?  and  what  was 
the  greatest  commandment  of  all?  According  to  some 
Kabbis,  the  most  important  of  all  is  that  about  the  tcplulliii 
and  the  tsitsith,  the  fringes  and  phylacteries  ;  and  "  lie 
who  diligently  observes  it  is  regarded  in  the  same  liglit  as 
if  he  had  kept  the  whole  Law." 

Some  thought  the  omission  of  ablutions  as  bad  as  homi- 
cide ;  some  that  the  precepts  of  the  Mishna  were  all 
"heavy;"  those  of  the  Law  were  some  heavy  and  some 
light.  Others  considered  the  third  to  be  the  greatest  com- 
mandment. None  of  them  had  realized  tlie  great  principle, 
that  the  willful  violation  of  one  commandment  is  the  trans- 
gression of  all  (James  ii.  10),  because  the  object  of  the  en- 
tire Law  is  the  spirit  of  ohedience  to  God.  On  tlic  question 
proposed  by  the  lawyer  the  Shammaitesaud  Hillelites  were 
in  discord,  and,  as  usual,  both  schools  were  wrong  :  the 
Shammaites,  in  thinking  that  mere  trivial  external  observ- 
ances were  valuable,  apart  from  the  spirit  in  which  they 
were  performed,  and  the  principle  which  they  exempHHed; 
the  Hillelites,  in  thinking  that  any  positive  command 
could  in  itself  be  unimportant,  and  in  not  seeing  that  great 
principles  are  essential  to  the  due  performance  of  even  the 
slightest  duties. 

Still  the  best  and  most  enlightened  of  the  Eabbis  had 
already  rightly  seen  that  the  greatest  of  all  commands,  be- 
cause it  was  the  sowrce  of  all  the  others,  was  that  which 
enjoined  the  love  of  the  One  True  God.  Jesus  had  already 
had  occasion  to  express  His  approval  of  this  judgment, 
and  He  now  repeats  it.  Pointing  to  the  Scribes'  teplnllin, 
in  which  one  of  the  four  divisions  contained  the  "  HIicuKt." 
(Deut.  vi.  4) — recited  twice  a  day  by  every  })ious  Israelite 
— He  told  them  that  that  was  the  greatest  of  all  command- 
ments, "Hear,  0  Israel,  the  Lord  our  (lod  is  one  Lord;" 


402  THE  LIFE  OF  CBRlST. 

and  tlijit  the  second  was  like  to  it,  "  Thou  slialt  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself.''  Love  to  God  issuing  in  love  to  man 
— love  to  man,  our  brother,  resulting  from  love  to  our 
Father,  God — on  these  two  commandments  hang  all  the 
Law  and  the  Prophets. 

The  question,  in  the  sense  which  the  Scribe  had  put  it, 
was  one  of  the  mere  judxat  vojuixal,  one  of  those  "  striv- 
ings about  the  Law,"  whicli,  as  they  were  handled  by  the 
schools,  were  "unprofitable  and  vain."  But  he  could  not 
fail  to  see  that  Jesus  had  not  treated  it  in  the  idle  disputa- 
tious spirit  of  jangling  logomachy  to  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed, and  had  not  in  His  answer  sanctioned  any  of  the 
common  errors  and  heresies  of  exalting  the  ceremonial  above 
the  moral,  or  tiie  Tradition  over  theTorah,  or  the  decisions 
of  SophcHm  above  the  utterances  of  l^roj)hets.  Still  less  had 
He  fallen  into  the  fatal  error  of  the  Eabbis,  by  making 
obedience  in  one  particular  atone  for  transgression  in  an- 
other. The  commandments  which  He  had  mentioned  as 
the  greatest  were  not  special  but  general  —  not  selected 
out  of  many,  but  inclusive  of  all.  The  Scribe  had  the 
sense  to  observe,  and  the  candor  to  acknowledge  that  the 
answer  of  Jesus  was  wise  and  noble.  "  Well,  Master,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  Thou  hast  said  the  truth,"  and  then  he  showed 
that  he  had  read  the  Scriptures  to  some  advantage  by  sum- 
marizing some  of  those  grand  free  utterances  of  the 
Prophets  which  prove  that  love  to  God  and  love  to  man 
is  better  than  all  whole  burnt-otferings  and  sacrifices. 
Jeeus  approved  of  his  sincerity,  and  said  to  him  in  words 
which  involved  both  gracious  encouragement  and  serious 
warning,  ''  Thou  art  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
It  was,  therefore,  at  once  easier  for  him  to  enter,  and 
more  perilous  to  turn  aside.  When  he  had  entered  he 
would  see  that  the  very  spirit  of  his  question  was  an  er- 
roneous and  faulty  one,  and  that  "  whosoever  shall  keep 
the  whole  law,  and  yet  offend  in  one  point,  is  guilty  of  all." 

No  other  attempt  was  ever  made  to  catch  or  entangle  Jesus 
by  the  words  of  His  lips.  The  Sanhedrin  had  now  experienced 
by  the  defeat  of  their  cunning  stratagems,  and  the  humil- 
iation of  their  vaunted  wisdom,  that  one  ray  of  light  from 
the  sun-lit  hills  on  which  His  spirit  sat,  was  enough  to  dis- 
sipate, and  to  pierce  through  and  through,  the  fogs  of 
wordy  contention  and  empty  repetition  in  which  they  lived 


TBE  GREAT  DENUNCIATION.  403 

and  moved  and  had  their  being.  But  it  was  well  for  them 
to  be  convinced  l)ow  easily,  hud  He  desired  it,  He  conld 
have  employed  against  them  witli  overwhelming  force,  the 
very  engines  which,  with  results  so  futile  and  so  disas- 
trous, they  had  put  in  play  against  Him.  He,  therefore, 
put  to  them  one  simple  question,  based  on  their  own  prin- 
ciples of  interpretation  and  drawn  from  a  Psalm  (the  110th) 
which  they  regarded  as  distinctly  Messianic.  In  that  Psalm 
occurs  the  expression,  '*  Tiie  Lord  {Jehovali)  said  unto  my 
Lord  [Adonai),  Sit  thou  on  my  right  hand.*'  How  then 
could  the  Messiali  be  David's  son?  Could  Abraham  have 
called  Isaac  and  Jacob  and  Joseph,  or  any  of  his  own  de- 
scendants near  or  remote  his  Loi'd?  If  not,  how  came 
David  to  do  so?  There  could  be  but  one  answer — because 
that  Son  would  be  divine,  not  human  —  David's  son  by 
human  birth,  but  David's  Lord  by  divine  subsistence. 
But  they  could  not  find  this  simple  explanation,  nor  in- 
deed any  other;  they  could  not  find  it,  because  Jesus  was 
their  Messiah,  and  they  had  rejected  Him.  They  chose  to 
ignore  the  fact  that  He  was,  in  the  flesh,  the  son  of  David; 
and  when,  as  their  Messiah,  He  had  called  Himself  the  Son 
of  God,  they  had  raised  their  hands  in  pious  horror,  and 
had  taken  up  stones  to  stone  Him.  So  here  again — since 
they  had  rejected  the  clew  of  faith  which  would  have  led 
them  to  the  true  explanation — their  wisdom  was  utterly  at 
fault,  and  though  they  claimed  so  haughtily  to  be  leaders  of 
the  people,  yet  on  a  topic  so  ordinary  and  so  important  as 
their  Messianic  hopes,  they  were  convicted,  for  the  second 
time  on  a  single  day,  of  being  "'  blind  leaders  of  the  blind." 
And  they  loved  their  blindness;  they  would  not  acknowl- 
edge their  ignorance  ;  tliey  did  not  repent  them  of  their 
faults;  the  bitter  venom  of  their  hatred  to  Him  was  not 
driven  forth  by  His  forbearance;  the  dense  midnight  of 
their  perversity  was  not  dispelled  by  His  wisdom.  Their 
purpose  to  destroy  Him  was  fixed,  obstinate,  irreversible; 
and  if  one  plot  failed,  they  were  but  driven  with  more  stub- 
born sullenness  into  anotlier.  And,  therefore,  since  Love 
had  played  iier  part  in  vain,  "Justice  leaped  upon  the 
stage;"  since  the  Liglit  of  the  World  shone  for  them  with 
no  illumination,  the  lightning  flash  should  at  last  warn 
them  of  their  danger.  There  could  now  be  no  hope  of 
their  becoming  reconciled  to  Him  ;  they  were  but  being 


404  THE  LIFE  OF  (JIIRT8T. 

stereotyped  in  nnrepeiitjiiit  malice  against  Him.  Turning, 
therefore,  to  His  disciples,  but  in  the  audience  of  all  the 
people,  He  rolled  over  their  guilty  heads,  with  crash  on 
crash  of  moral  anger,  the  thunder  of  his  utter  condemna- 
tion. So  far  as  they  represented  a  legitimate  external 
authority  He  bade  His  hearers  to  respect  them,  but  He 
warned  them  not  to  imitate  their  falsity,  their  oppression, 
their  ostentation,  their  love  of  prominence,  their  fondness 
for  titles,  their  insinuating  avarice,  their  self-exalting 
pride.  He  bade  them  beware  of  the  broadest  phylacteries 
and  exaggerated  tassels — of  the  long  robes  that  covered  the 
murderous  hearts,  and  the  long  prayers  that  diverted 
attention  from  the  covetous  designs.  And  then,  solemnly 
and  terribly,  He  uttered  His  eightfold  "Woe  unto  you. 
Scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites,"  scathing  them  in  utter- 
ance after  utterance  with  a  flame  which  at  once  revealed 
and  scorched.  Woe  unto  them,  for  the  ignorant  erudition 
which  closed  the  gates  of  heaven,  and  the  injurious  jealousy 
which  would  sutfer  no  others  to  enter  in !  Woe  unto  them  for 
their  oppressive  hypocrisy  and  greedy  cant !  Woe  for  the 
proselyting  fanaticism  which  did  but  produce  a  more  peril- 
ous corruption  !  AVoe  for  the  blind  hair-splitting  folly 
which  so  confused  the  sanctity  of  oaths  as  to  tempt  their 
followers  into  gross  profanity!  Woe  for  the  petty  paltry 
sham-scrupulosity  which  paid  tithes  of  pot-herbs,  and 
thought  nothing  of  justice,  mercy  and  faith  —  which 
strained  out  animalculfe  from  the  goblet,  and  swallowed 
camels  into  the  heart  !  Woe  for  the  external  cleaidinessof 
cup  and  platter  contrasted  with  the  gluttony  and  drunken- 
ness to  which  they  ministered  !  Woo  to  the  tombs  that 
simulated  the  saiictity  of  temples — to  the  glistening  out- 
ward plaster  of  hypocrisy  which  did  but  render  more 
ghastly  by  contrast  the  reeking  pollutions  of  the  sepulcher 
within  !  Woe  for  the  mock  repentance  which  condemned 
their  fathers  for  the  murder  of  the  prophets,  and  yet 
reflected  the  murderous  spirit  of  those  fathers — nay,  filled 
up  and  exceeded  the  measure  of  their  guilt  by  a  yet  dead- 
lier and  more  dreadful  sacrifice  !  Ay,  on  that  generation 
would  come  all  the  righteous  blood  shed  upon  the  earth, 
from  the  blood  of  righteous  Abel  to  the  blood  of  Zacharias, 
whom  they  slew  between  the  porch  and  the  altar.  The 
purple  cloud  of  retribution  had  long  been  gathering  its  ele- 


THE  GREAT  DENUNCIATION.  405 

ments  of  fury;  upon  their  heads  should  it  burst  in 
flame. 

And  at  that  point  the  voice  which  liad  rung  with  just 
and  noble  indignation  broke  witli  the  tenderest  pity — "  0 
Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,  thou  that  killest  the  prophets,  and 
stonest  them  that  are  sent  unto  thee,  how  often  would  I 
liave  gathered  tiiy  children  together,  even  as  a  hen  gather- 
eth  her  cliickens  under  her  wings,  and  ye  would  not ! 
Behold,  your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate  !  For  I  say 
nnto  you,  Ye  shall  not  see  me  henceforth  till  ye  shall  say, 
Blessed  is  He  that  cometh  in  tlie  name  of  the  Lord." 

''Woe  unto  you,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites." 
Some  have  ventured  to  accuse  these  words  of  injustice,  of 
bitterness — to  attribute  them  to  a  burst  of  undignified  dis- 
appointment and  unreasonable  wrath.  Yet  is  sin  never  to 
be  rebuked?  is  hypocrisy  never  to  be  unmasked?  is  moral 
indignation  no  necessary  part  of  the  noble  soul  ?  And 
does  not  Jewish  literature  itself  most  amjily  support  tlie 
charge  brought  against  the  Pharisees  by  Jesus?  "Fear 
not  true  Pharisees,  but  greatly  fear  painted  Pliarisees/' 
said  Alexander  JanuEeus  to  his  wife  on  his  death-bed. 
"The  supreme  tribunjd,'' says  R.  Nacliaman,  "  will  duly 
punish  hypocrites  who  wrap  their  taUiths  around  them  to 
appear,  which  they  are  not,  true  Phai-isees."  Nay,  the 
Talmud  itself,  with  unwonted  keenness  and  severity  of 
sarcasm,  has  pictured  to  us  tlie  seven  classes  of  Pharisees, 
out  of  which  six  are  characterized  by  a  mixture  of  haughti- 
ness and  imposture.  There  is  the  "  Shechemite"  Pharisee, 
who  obeys  the  law  from  self  interest  (cf.  Gen.  xxxiv.  19); 
the  TumUing  Pharisee  {niJcfi),  who  is  so  humble  that  he  is 
always  stumbling  because  he  will  not  liTt  his  feet  from  the 
ground;  the  Bleeding  Pharisee  (h'nai),  wlio  is  always  hurt- 
ing himself  against  walls,  because  he  is  so  modest  as  to  be 
unable  to  walk  about  with  his  eyes  open  lest  he  should  see 
a  woman;  the  Mortar  Pharisee  {medorkia),  who  covers  his 
eyes  as  with  a  mortar,  ,^or  the  same  reason;  the  Tell-me- 
another-dutg-andl-wiU-do-it  Pharisee — several  of  whom 
occur  in  our  Lord's  ministi-y  ;  and  the  Timid  J'liarisee, 
who  is  actuated  by  motives  of  fear  alone.  The  seventh  class 
only  is  the  class  of  "  Pliarisees  from  love,"  who  obey  God 
because  they  love  Him  from  the  heart. 

•'Behold,  your  liouse  is  left  unto  you  desolate!"     And 


406  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

has  not  that  clenunciation  heen  fearfully  fulfilled  ?  Who 
does  not  catch  an  echo  of  it  in  the  language  of  Tacitus — 
"Expassae  repente  dolubri  fores,  et  audita  major  humana 
vox  excedere  Deos.''  Speaking  of  the  murder  of  the 
younger  Hanan,  and  other  eminent  nobles  and  hierarclis, 
Josephus  says,  **  I  cannot  but  think  that  ?Y  was  because  God 
had  doomed  this  city  to  destruction  ns  a  poUnted  city,  and 
was  resolved  to  pnrye  His  sanctuary  by  fire,  that  He  cut 
off  these  their  great  defenders  and  well-wishers ;  while 
those  that  a  little  before  had  worn  the  sacred  garments 
and  presided  over  the  public  worship,  and  had  been 
esteemed  venerable  by  those  that  dwelt  in  the  whole  habit- 
able earth,  w-ere  cast  out  naked,  and  seen  to  be  the  food  of 
dogs  and  wild  beasts."  Never  was  a  narrative  more  full  of 
horrors,  frenzies,  unspeakable  degradations,  and  over- 
whelming miseries  than  is  the  history  of  the  siege  of 
Jerusalem.  .Never  was  any  prophecy  more  closely,  more 
terribly,  more  overwhelmingly  fulfilled  than  this  of  Christ. 
The  men  going  about  in  the  disguise  of  women  with  swords 
concealed  under  their  gay  I'obes  ;  the  rival  outrages  and 
infamies  of  John  and  Simon  ;  the  priests  struck  by  darts 
from  the  upper  court  of  tlie  Temple,  and  falling  slain  by 
their  own  sacrifices;  "the  blood  of  all  sorts  of  dead  car- 
cases—  priests,  strangers,  profane  —  standing  in  lakes  in 
the  holy  courts;"  the  corpses  themselves  lying  in  piles  and 
mounds  on  the  very  altar  slopes  ;  the  fires  feeding  luxu- 
riously on  cedar-work  overlaid  with  gold  ;  friend  and  foe 
trampled  to  death  on  the  gleaming  mosaics  in  promiscuous 
carnage  ;  priests,  swollen  with  hunger,  leaping  madly  into 
the  devouring  flames,  till  at  last  those  flames  had  done 
their  work,  and  what  had  been  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem, 
the  beautiful  and  holy  House  of  God,  was  a  heap  of  ghastly 
ruin,  where  the  burning  embers  were  half-slaked  in  pools 
of  gore. 

And  did  not  all  the  righteous  blood  shed  upon  the  earth 
since  the  days  of  Abel  come  upon  that  generation?  Did 
not  many  of  that  generation  survive  to  witness  and  feel  the 
unutterable  horrors  which  Josephus  tells  ? — to  see  their 
fellows  crucified  in  jest,  "  some  one  way,  and  some  an- 
other," till  "room  was  wanting  for  the  crosses,  and  crosses 
for  the  carcases?" — to  expei-ience  th(>  "deep  silence"  and 
the  kind  of  deadly  niglit  wl)inh  Kpizcl   nj-.nn  tlie  city  in  the 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  TEMPLE.  407 

intervals  of  rage  ? — to  see  600,000  dead  bodies  carried  out 
of  the  gates? — to  see  friends  fighting  madly  for  grass  and 
nettles,  and  the  refuse  of  the  drains? — to  see  the  bloody 
zealots  "  gaping  for  want,  and  stumbling  and  staggering 
along  like  mad  dogs  ?" — to  hear  the  horrid  tale  of  the 
miserable  mother  who,  in  the  pangs  of  famine,  had  de- 
voured her  own  child? — to  be  sold  for  slaves  in  such  multi- 
tudes that  at  last  none  would  buy  them? — to  see  the  streets 
running  with  blood,  and  the  "fire  of  burning  houses 
quenched  in  the  blood  of  their  defenders?" — to  have  their 
young  sons  sold  in  hundreds,  or  exposed  in  the  amphi- 
theaters to  the  sword  of  the  gladiator  or  the  fury  of  the 
lion,  until  at  last,  "since  the  people  were  now  slain,  the 
Holy  House  burned  down,  and  the  city  in  flames,  there  was 
nothing  further  left  for  the  enemy  to  do?"  In  that  awful 
siege  it  is  believed  that  there  perished  1,100,000  men, 
beside  the  97,000  who  were  cariied  captive,  and  most  of 
whom  perished  subsequently  in  tlie  arena  or  the  mine  ; 
and  it  was  an  awful  thing  to  feel,  as  some  of  the  survivors 
and  eye-witnesses — and  they  not  Christians — did  feel,  that 
"  the  city  had  deserved  its  overthrow  by  producing  a 
generation  of  men  who  were  the  causes  of  its  misfortunes;' 
and  that  "neither  did  any  other  city  ever  suffer  such 
miseries,  wox  did  any  age  ever  breed  a  generation  more  fruit- 
ful in  wickedness  than  this  loas,  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world. '' 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

FAREWELL   TO   THE   TEMPLE. 

It  must  have  been  clear  to  all  that  the  Great  Denuncia- 
tion recorded  in  the  last  chapter  involved  a  final  and 
hopeless  rupture.  After  language  such  as  this  there  could 
be  no  possibility  of  reconciliation.  It  was  "too  late." 
The  door  was  shut.  When  Jesus  left  the  Temple  His 
disciples  must  have  been  aware  that  He  was  leaving  it 
forever. 

But  apparently  as  He  was  leaving  it — perhaps  while  He 
was  sitting  with  sad  heart  and  downcast  eyes  in  the  Court 
of  the  Women  to  rest  His  wul,  troubled  by  the  unwonted 


408  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

intensity  of  moral  indignation,  and  His  mind  wearied  with 
these  incessant  assanlts — another  and  less  painful  incident 
happened,  which  enabled  Him  to  leave  the  actual  pre- 
cincts of  tlie  House  of  His  Father  with  words,  not  of 
anger,  but  of  a})pi'oval.  In  this  Court  of  the  Women  were 
thirteen  chests  called  yJiDpheroth,  each  shaped  like  a  trum- 
pet, broadening  downward  from  the  aperture,  and  each 
adorned  with  various  inscriptions.  Into  these  were  cast 
those  religious  and  benevolent  contributions  which  helped 
to  furnish  the  Temple  with  its  splendid  wealth.  While 
Jesus  was  sitting  there  the  multitude  were  dropping  their 
gifts,  and  the  wealthier  donors  were  consi)icuous  among 
them  as  they  ostentatiously  olTered  their  gold  and  silver. 
Raising  His  eyes,  perhaps  fiom  a  reverie  of  sorrow,  Jesus 
at  a  glance  took  in  the  whole  significance  of  the  scene. 
At  tliat  moment  a  poor  widow  timidly  drojiped  in  her  little 
contribution.  The  lips  of  the  rich  contributors  may  have 
curled  with  scorn  at  a  presentation  which  was  the  very 
lowest  legal  minimum.  She  had  given  two  prutalis,  the 
very  smallest  of  current  coins;  for  it  was  not  lawful,  even 
for' the  poorest,  to  offer  only  o;^e.  A  lepton,  or  inutali, 
was  the  eighth  part  of  an  as,  and  was  worth  a  little  less 
than  half  a  fartiiing,  so  that  her  whole  gift  was  of  the 
value  of  less  than  a  farthing;  and  with  tlie  shame  of  pov- 
erty she  may  well  have  shrunk  from  giving  so  trivial  a 
gift  when  the  rich  men  around  her  were  lavishing  their 
gold.  But  Jesus  was  pleased  with  the  faithfulness  and 
the  self-sacrificing  spirit  of  the  gift.  It  was  like  the  "cup 
of  cold  water  "given  for  love's  sake,  which  in  His  kingdom 
should  not  go  unrewarded.  He  wished  to  teach  forever 
the  great  lesson  that  the  essence  of  charity  is  self-denial; 
and  the  self-denial  of  tliis  widow  in  her  pauper  condition 
was  far  greater  than  th.at  of  the  wealthiest  Pharisee  who 
had  contributed  his  gold.  "  For  they  all  flung  in  of  their 
abundance,  but  she  of  her  penury  cast  in  all  she  had,  her 
whole  means  of  subsistence."'  "  One  coin  out  of  a  little," 
says  St.  Ambrose,  "is  better  than  a  treasui-e  out  of  much; 
for  it  is  not  considered  how  much  is  given,  but  how  much 
remains  beliind."  "  If  then' be  a  willing  mind,"  says  St. 
Paul,  "' it  is  accepted  according  to  that  a  man  hath,  and 
not  according  to  that  he  hath  not." 

And  now  Jesus  left  the  Temple  for   the  last  time;  but 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  TEMPLE.  409 

the  feelings  of  the  Apostles  still  clung  with  the  loving 
pride  of  their  nationality  to  tliat  sacred  and   memorable 
spot.     They  stopped   to  cast  upon   it   one    last   lingering 
gaze,  and  one  of  them  was  eager  to  call  His  attention  to 
its  goodly  stones  and  splendid  offerings — those  nine  gates 
overlaid  with  gold  and  silver,  and  the  one  of  solid   Corin- 
thian brass  yet  more  precious;  those  graceful  and  towering 
porches;  those  beveled  blocks  of  marble  forty  cubits  long 
and  ten  cubits  high,  testifying  to  the  toil  and  munificence 
of  so  many  generations;  those  double  cloisters  and  stately 
pillars;  that  lavish  adornment  of  sculpture  and  arabesque; 
those  alternate  blocks  of  red  and  white  marble,  recalling 
the  crest  and  hollow  of  the  sea  waves;  those  vast  clusters 
of  golden  grapes,  each  cluster  as  large  as  a  man,  which 
twined  their  splendid  luxuriance  over  the  golden  doors. 
They  would  have  Him  gaze  with  them  on  the  rising  ter- 
races of  courts — the  Court  of  the  Gentiles  with  its  mono- 
lithic columns  and  I'ich  mosaic  ;  above   this  the  flight  of 
fourteen  steps  which  led  to  the  Court  of  the  Women;  then 
the  flight  of  fifteen  steps  which  led  up  to  the  Court  of  the 
Priests  ;  then,  once   more,  the   twelve  steps  which  led  to 
the  final  platform  crowned  by  the  actual  Holy,  and  Holy 
of  Holies,  which  the  Rabbis  fondly  compared  for  its  shape 
to  a  couchant  lion,  and  which,  with   its  marble  whiteness 
and  gilded  roofs,  looked  like  a  glorious  mountain  whose 
snowv  summit  was  gilded  by  the  sun.     It  is  as  though 
they  thought  that  th^e  loveliness  and  splendor  of  this  scene 
would  intercede  with  Him,  touching  His  heart  with   mute 
appeal.     But  the  heart  of  Jesus  was  sad.     To  Him  the 
sole  beauty  of  the  Temple  was  the  sincerity  of  its  wor- 
shipers, and  no  gold  or  marble,  no  brilliant  vermilion  or 
curiously-carven  cedar-wood,   no   delicate   sculpturing   or 
votive  gems,  could  change  for  Him  a  den  of  robbers  into  a 
House  of  Prayer.     The  builders  were  still  busily  at  work, 
as  they  had  been  for  nearly  fifty  years,  but  their  work,  un- 
blessed of  God.  was  destined— like  the  earthquake-shaken 
forum  of   guilty  Pompeii— to  be  destroyed  before  it  was 
finished.     Briefly  and  almost  sternly  Jesus  answered,  as 
He  turned  away  fiom  the  glittering  spectacle,  "Seestthou 
these  great  buildings?  there  shall    not  be  left   one  stone 
upon  another  which  shall  not  be  tlirown  down."     It  was 
the  final  k)ixM(3'^nif.^  the  '*  Let  us  depart  henc«  "  of  retir- 


410  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

itig  Deity.  Tacitus  jind  Josei)l)ns  tells  ns  how  at  the  siege 
of  Jernsaleiii  was  heard  that  g'l'eat  utterance  of  departing 
gods;  but  now  it  was  uttered  in  reality,  tliougii  no  eartli- 
quake  accompanied  it,  nor  any  miracle  to  show  that  this 
was  tlie  close  of  another  great  epoch  in  the  world's  history. 
It  took  })lace  quietly,  and  God  "•  was  content  to  show  all 
things  in  the  slow  history  of  their  ripening."'  Thirty-five 
years  afterward  that  Temple  sank  into  the  ashes  of  its  de- 
struction; neither  Hadrian,  nor  Julian,  Tior  any  other, 
were  able  to  build  upon  its  site;  and  now  that  very  site  is 
a  matter  of  uncertainty. 

Sadly  and  silently,  with  such  thoughts  in  their  hearts, 
the  little  band  turned  their  backs  on  the  sacred  building, 
which  stood  there  as  an  epitome  of  Jewish  history  from  the 
days  of  Solomon  onward.  They  crossed  the  valley  of 
Kidi'on,  and  climbed  the  steep,  footpath  that  leads  over 
the  Mount  of  Olives  to  Bethany.  At  the  summit  of  the 
hill  they  paused,  and  Jesus  sat  down  to  rest  —  perhaps 
under  the  green  boughs  of  those  two  stately  cedar-trees 
which  then  adorned  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  was  a 
scene  well  adapted  to  inspire  most  solemn  ti)oughts.  Deep 
on  the  one  side  beneath  Him  lay  the  Holy  City,  which 
had  long  become  a  harlot,  and  which  now,  on  this  day  — 
the  last  great  day  of  His  public  ministry  —  had  shown 
finally  that  she  knew  not  the  time  of  her  visitation.  At 
His  feet  were  the  slopes  of  Olivet  and  the  Garden  of  Geth- 
semane.  On  the  ojjposite  slope  rose  the  city  walls,  and 
the  broad  plateau  crowned  with  the  marble  colonnades 
and  gilded  roofs  of  the  Temple.  Turning  in  the  eastward 
•direction  He  would  look  across  the  bare,  desolate  hills  of 
the  wilderness  of  Judaea  to  the  purpling  line  of  the  mount- 
ains of  Moab,  which  glow  like  a  chain  of  jewels  in  the 
sunset  light.  In  the  deep,  scorched  hollows  of  the  Ghoi", 
visible  in  patches  of  sullen  cobalt,  lay  the  mysterious  waters 
of  the  Sea  of  Lot.  And  thus,  as  He  gazed  from  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  on  either  side  of  Him  there  were  visible  tokens 
of  God's  anger  and  man's  sin.  On  the  one  side  gloomed 
the  dull  lake,  whose  ghastly  and  bituminous  waves  are  a 
perpetual  testimony  to  God's  vengeance  upon  sensual 
crime;  at  His  feet  was  the  glorious  guilty  city  which  had 
shed  the  blood  of  all  the  proplieta,  and  was  doomed  to  sink 
"through  yet  dead liw- wicked I10S9  to  yet   more  :iwful  retri- 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  TEMPLE.  411 

bution.  And  the  setting  sun  of  His  earthly  life  flung 
deeper  and  more  sombre  colorings  across  the  whole  scene 
of  His  earthly  pilgrimage. 

It  may  be  that  tlie  shadows  of  His  thought  gave  a  strange 
solemnity  to  His  attitude  and  features  as  He  sat  there 
silent  among  the  silent  and  saddened  band  of  His  few  faith- 
ful followers.  Not  without  a  touch  of  awe  His  nearest 
and  most  favored  Apostles — Peter,  and  James,  and  John, 
and  Andrew — came  near  to  Him,  and  as  they  saw  His  eye 
fixed  upon  tlie  Temple,  asked  Him  privately,  "  Wiieu 
shall  these  things  be?  and  what  shall  be  the  sign  of  Thy 
coming,  and  of  the  end  of  the  world?"  Their  "  wZi^w  T' 
remained  for  the  present  unanswered.  It  was  the  way  of 
Jesus,  wlien  some  ignorant  or  irrelevant  or  inadmissible 
question  was  put  to  Him,  to  rebuke  it  not  directly,  but  by 
passing  it  over,  and  by  substituting  for  its  answer  some 
great  moral  lesson  which  was  connected  with  it,  and  could 
alone  make  it  valuable.  Accordingly,  this  question  of  the 
Apostles  drew  from  Him  the  great  Eschatological  Dis- 
course, or  Discourse  of  the  Last  Things,  of  which  the  four 
moral  kev-uotes  are  "Beware!"  and  "Watch!"  and 
"  Endurel"  and  "  Pray." 

Immense  difficulties  have  been  found  in  this  discourse, 
and  long  treatises  have  been  written  to  remove  them. 
And,  indeed,  the  metaphorical  language  in  which  it  is 
clothed,  and  the  intentional  obscurity  in  which  the  will  of 
God  has  involved  all  those  details  of  the  future  which 
would  only  minister  to  an  idle  curiosity  or  a  paralyzing 
dread,  must  ever  make  parts  of  it  difficult  to  understand. 
But  if  we  compare  together  the  reports  of  the  three  Synop- 
tists,  and  see  how  they  mutually  throw  light  upon  each 
other;  if  we  remember  that,  in  all  thi'ee,  the  actual  words 
of  Jesus  are  necessarily  condensed,  and  are  only  reported 
in  their  substance,  and  in  a  manner  which  admits  of  verbal 
divergences;  if  we  bear  in  mind  that  they  are  in  all  prob- 
ability a  rendering  into  Greek  from  the  Aramaic  vernacu- 
lar in  which  they  were  spoken;  if  we  keep  hold  of  the  cer- 
tainty that  the  object  of  Prophecy  in  all  ages  has  been 
moral  warning  infinitely  more  than  even  the  vaguest 
chronological  indication,  since  to  the  voice  of  Prophecy  as 
to  the  eye  of  God  all  Time  is  but  one  eternal  Present,  '•  one 
day  as  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand  years  as  one  day;" 


412  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

if,  finally,  we  accept  with  quiet  reverence,  and  without  any 
idle  theological  phraseology  about  the  communicatlo  iilio- 
tnatum,  the  distinct  assertion  of  the  Lord  Himself,  that 
to  Him,  in  His  human  capacity,  were  not  known  the  day 
and  the  hour,  which  belonged  to  "the  times  and  tiie  sea- 
sons which  the  Father  hath  kept  in  His  own  power;"  if,  I 
say,  we  read  these  chapters  with  such  principles  kept 
steadily  in  view,  then  to  every  earnest  and  serious  reader  I 
feel  sure  that  inost  of  tlie  difficulties  will  vanish  of  them- 
selves. 

It  is  evident,  from  comparing  St.  Luke  with  the  other 
Synoptists,  that  Jesus  turned  the  thoughts  of  the  disciples 
to  two  horizons,  one  near  and  one  far  off,  as  He  suffered 
them  to  see  one  brief  glimpse  of  the  landscape  of  the 
future.  The  boundary  line  of  either  horizon  marked  the 
winding-up  of  an  ceon.  the  dwraXsta  aicavoi;  each  was  a 
great  rf'Ao?,  or  ending;  of  each  it  was  true  that  the  then 
existing  yevsa — first  in  its  literal  sense  of  ''generation," 
then  in  its  wider  sense  of  "  race" — should  not  pass  away 
until  all  had  been  fulfilled.  And  the  one  was  the  type  of 
the  other;  the  judgment  upon  Jerusalem,  followed  by  the 
establishment  of  the  visible  Church  on  earth,  foreshadowed 
the  judgment  of  the  world,  and  the  establishment  of 
Christ's  kingdom  at  His  second  coming.  And  if  the  vague 
prophetic  language  and  imagery  of  8t.  Matthew,  and  to  a 
less  degree  that  of  St.  Mark,  might  lead  to  the  im- 
pression that  these  two  events  were  continuous,  or 
at  least  nearly  conterminous  with  each  other,  on 
the  other  hand  we  see  clearly  from  St.  Luke  that  our  Jjord 
expressly  warned  the  inquiring  Apostles  that,  though 
many  of  the  signs  which  He  predicted  would  be  followed 
by  the  immediate  close  of  one  great  epoch  \\\  the  world's 
history,  on  the  other  hand  the  great  consummation,  the 
final  Palingenesia,  would  not  follow  at  once,  nor  were  they 
to  be  alarmed  by  the  troubles  and  commotions  of  the  world 
into  any  instant  or  feverish  expectancy.  Hi  fact,  when 
once  we  have  grasped  the  principh^  that  Jesus  was  speak- 
ing partly  and  primarily  of  tlie  fall  of  the  Jewish  polity 
and  dispensation,  partly  and  secoiularily  of  the  end  of  the 
world — but  that,  since  He  spoke  of  them  v/ith  that  vary- 
ing interchange  of  thought  and  sjjeech  which  was  natural 
for  one  whose  whole  being  moved  in  the  sphere  of  eternity 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  TEMPLE.  413 

and  not  of  time,  the  Evangelists  have  not  clearly  distin-- 
guished  between  the  passages  in  wliich  He  is  referring 
more  prominently  to  tlie  one  than  to  the  other — we  shall 
then  avoid  being  misled  by  any  superficial  and  erroneous 
impressions,  and  sliall  bear  in  mind  that  before  tlie  final 
end  Jesus  placed  two  great  events.  The  first  of  these  was 
a  long  treading  under  foot  of  Jerusalem,  until  tlie  times 
of  the  Gentiles  (the  xazpo'i  levcSv,  i.e.,  their  whole  oppor- 
tunities under  the  Christian  dispensation)  should  be  ful- 
filled ;  the  second  was  a  preaching  of  the  Gospel  of  the 
Kingdom  to  all  nations  in  all  the  world.  Nor  can  we 
deny  all  probability  to  the  supposition  that  while  the  in- 
spired narrators  of  the  Gospel  history  reported  with  per- 
fect wisdom  and  faithfulness  everything  that  was  essential 
to  the  life  and  salvation  of  mankind,  their  abbreviations 
of  what  Jesus  uttered,  and  the  se(}uence  which  they  gave  to 
the  order  of  His  utterances,  were  to  a  certain  extent  tinged 
by  their  own  subjectivity — possibly  even  by  their  own 
natural  supposition — that  the  second  horizon  lay  nearer  to 
the  first  than  it  actually  did  in  the  designs  of  Heaven, 

In  this  discourse,  then,  Jesus  first  warned  them  of  false 
Messiahs  and  false  propliets  ;  He  told  them  that  the  wild 
struggling  of  nations  and  those  physical  commotions  and 
calamities  which  have  so  often  seemed  to  synchronize  witli 
the  great  crises  of  History,  wei'c  not  to  trouble  them,  as 
they  would  be  but  the  throe  of  the  Palingenesia,  the  first 
birth-pang  of  the  coming  time.  He  prophesied  of  dread- 
ful persecutions,  of  abounding  iniquity,  of  decaying  faith, 
of  wide  evangelization  as  tlie  signs  of  a  coming  end.  And 
as  we  learn  from  many  other  passages  of  Scripture,  these 
signs,  as  they  did  usher  in  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  so 
shall  reappear  on  a  larger  scale  before  the  end  of  all  things 
is  at  hand. 

The  next  great  paragraph  of  this  speech  dwelt  mainly 
on  the  immediate  future.  He  had  foretold  distinctly  the 
destruction  of  the  Holy  City,  and  He  now  gives  them  in- 
dications which  should  forewarn  them  of  its  approach, 
and  lead  them  to  secure  their  safety.  When  they  should 
see  Jerusalem  encompassed  with  armies — when  the  abomi- 
nation which  should  cause  desolation  should  stand  in  the 
Holy  Place  —  then  even  from  tlie  fields,  even  from  the 
house-tops,  they  were  to  fly  out  of  Judaea  to  the  shelter  of 


414  ^SE  LIFE  OF  CJimST. 

the  Traiis-Jordauic  hills,  from  the  unspeakable  horrois 
that  should  follow.  Nor  even  then  were  they  tobeeai-ried 
away  by  auy  deceivableness  of  unrighteousness,  caused  by 
the  yearning  intensity  of  Messianic  hopes.  Many  sliould 
cry,  "  Lo  here!  and  lo  there!"  but  let  them  pay  no  heed  ; 
for  when  lie  came.  His  presence,  like  lightning  shining 
from  the  east  even  to  the  west,  should  be  visible  and  un- 
mistakable to  all  tlie  world,  and  like  eagles  gathering  to 
the  carcass  should  the  destined  ministers  of  his  vengeance 
wing  their  flight.  By  such  warnings  the  Christians  were 
preserved.  Before  John  of  Giscala  had  shut  the  gates  of 
Jerusalem,  and  Simon  of  Gerasa  had  begun  to  murder  the 
fugitives,  so  that  ■•he  who  escaped  the  tyrant  within  the 
wall  was  desti'oyed  by  the  other  that  lay  befoi'e  the  gates  " 
— before  the  Roman  eagle  waved  her  wing  over  the  doomed 
city,  or  the  infamies  of  lust  and  murder  had  driven  every 
worshiper  in  horror  from  the  Temple  Courts — the  Chris- 
tians had  taken  timely  warning,  and  in  the  little  Perajan 
town  of  Bella,  were  beyond  the  reach  of  all  the  robbery, 
and  murder,  and  famine,  and  cannibalism,  and  extermina- 
tion which  made  the  siege  of  Jerusalem  a  scene  of  greater 
tribulation  than  any  that  has  been  since  the  beginning  of 
the  world. 

Then  Jesus  passed  to  the  darkening  of  the  sun  and 
moon,  and  the  falling  of  the  stars,  and  the  shaking  of  the 
powers  of  heaven — signs  which  may  have  a  meaning  both 
literal  and  metaphorical  —  which  should  precede  the  ap- 
pearing of  the  Son  of  Man  in  heaven,  and  the  gathering 
of  the  elect  from  the  four  winds  by  the  trumpet-blast  of 
the  angels.  That  day  of  the  Lord  should  have  its  signs  no 
less  than  the  other,  and  He  bade  His  disciples  in  all  ages  to 
mark  those  signs  and  interpret  them  aright,  even  as  they 
interpreted  the  signs  of  the  coming  summer  in  the  fig- 
tree's  budding  leaves.  But  that  day  should  come  to  the 
world  suddenly,  nnexpectedly,  overwhelmingly;  and,  as  it 
should  be  a  day  of  reward  to  all  faithful  servants,  so 
should  it  be  a  day  of  vengeance  and  destruction  to  the 
glutton  and  the  drunkard,  to  the  hypocrite  and  the  op- 
pressor. Therefore,  to  impress  yet  more  indelibly  upon 
their  minds  the  lessons  of  watchfulness  and  faithfulness, 
and  to  warn  them  yet  more  emphatically  against  the  peril 
of  the  drowsy  life  and  the  smouldering  lamp,  He  told  the 


Farewell  to  the  temple.  415 

exquisite  Parables — so  beautiful,  so  simple,  yet  so  rich  in 
iustructioii — of  the  Ten  Virgins  and  of  tlie   Talents  ;  and 
drew  for  them  a  picture  of  tliat  Great  Day  of  Judgment 
on  which  the  King  should  separate  all  nations  from  one 
another  as  the  shepherd  divideth  his  sheep  from  the  goats. 
On  that  day  those  who  had  shown  the  least  kindness  to  the 
least  of  these  His  brethren  should   be  accounted  to  have 
done  it  unto  Him.     But  then,  lest  these  grand  eschato- 
logical  utterances  should  lead  them  to  any  of  their  old  mis- 
taken Messianic  notions,  He  ended   them  with  the  sad  and 
now    half-familiar  refrain,    that   His   death    and    anguish 
must   precede   all   else.     The   occasion,  the    manner,  the 
very  day  are  now  revealed  to  them  with  the  utmost  plain- 
ness and  simplicity:  "Ye  know  that  after  two  days  is  the 
Passover,  and  the  Son  of  Man  is  betrayed  to  be  crucified." 
So  ended  that  great  discourse  upon  tlie  Mount  of  Olives, 
and   the   sun   set,    and    He   arose  and    walked    with    His 
Apostles  the  short  remaining  road  to  Bethany.     It  was 
the  last  time  that  He  would  ever  walk  it  upon  earth  ;  and 
after  the  trials,  the  weariness,  the  awful   teachings,  the 
terrible  agitations  of  that  eventful  day,  how  delicious  to 
Him  must  have  been  that  hour  of  twilight  loveliness  and 
evening   calm  ;  how   refreshing   the    peace   and   affection 
which   surrounded   Him  in  the  quiet  village  and  the  holy 
home.     As  we  have  already  noticed,  Jesus  did  not  love 
cities,  and  scarcely  ever  slept  within  their  precincts.     He 
shrank  from    their   congregated    wickedness,    from    their 
glaring   publicity,    from    their  feverish  excitement,   from 
their   featureless    monotony,    with    all   the   natural   and 
instinctive  dislike  of  delicate  minds.     An   Oriental  city  is 
always  dirty  ;  the  refuse  is  flung  into   the  streets  ;  there  is 
no  paven)ent ;  the  pariah  dog  is  the  sole  scavenger  ;  beast 
and  num  jostle  each  other  promiscuously  in  the  crowded 
thorouglii'ares.     And   though  the, necessities  of  His  work 
compelled  Him  to  visit  Jerusalem,  and   to  preach  to   the 
vast   throngs  from  every  climate  and  country    who  were 
congregated  at  its  yearly  festivals,  yet   He  seems  to  have 
retired  on  every  possible  occasion  beyond  its  gates,  partly 
it  Tuay  be  for  safety — partly  from  poverty — partly  because 
He  loved   that  sweet  home  at  Betliany — and   jjartly  too, 
perhaps,  because  He  felt  the  peaceful  joy  of  treading  the 
grass  that  groweth  on  the  mountains  rather  than  the  city 


41  n  TJIK  LIFE  OF  f Jin  1ST, 

stones,  iiiul  could  hold  gladder  coniiminion  with  His 
.Father  in  heaven  under  the  shadow  of  the  olive  trees, 
where,  far  froui  all  disturbing  sights  and  sounds,  He  could 
watch  the  splendor  of  the  sunset  and  the  falling  of  the 
dew. 

And  surely  that  last  evening  walk  to  Bethany  on  that 
Tuesday  evening  in  Passion  week  must  have  breathed  deep 
calm  into  His  soul.  The  thought,  indeed,  of  the  bitter 
cup  which  He  was  so  soon  to  drink  was  doubtless  present 
to  Him,  but  present  only  in  its  aspect  of  exalted  sacrifice, 
and  the  highest  purpose  of  love  fulfilled.  Not  the  pangs 
which  He  would  suffer,  but  the  pangs  from  which  He 
would  save  ;  not  the  power  of  darkness  which  would  seem 
to  win  a  short-lived  triumph,  but  the  redeeming  victory — 
the  full,  perfect,  and  sufficient  atonement  —  these  we  may 
well,  though  reverently,  believe  to  have  been  the  subjects 
which  dominated  in  His  thoughts.  The  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  Syrian  evening,  the  tender  colors  of  the  spring 
grass  and  flowers,  the  wadys  around  Him  paling  into 
solemn  gray,  the  distant  hills  bathed  in  the  primrose  light 
of  sunset,  the  coolness  and  balm  of  the  breeze  after  the 
burning  glare — what  must  these  have  been  to  Him  to 
whose  eye  the  world  of  Nature  was  an  open  book,  on  every 
page  of  which  He  read  His  Father's  name  !  And  this  was 
His  native  land.  Bethany  was  almost  to  Him  a  second 
Nazareth  ;  those  Avhom  He  loved  were  around  Him,  and 
He  was  going  to  those  whom  He  loved.  Can  we  not 
imagine  Him  walking  on  in  silence  too  deep  for  words  — 
His  disciples  around  Him  or  following  Him — the  gibbous 
moon  beginning  to  rise  and  gild  the  twinkling  foliage  of 
the  olive  trees  with  richer  silver,  and  moonlight  and  twi- 
light blending  at  each  step  insensibly  with  the  garish  hues 
of  day,  like  that  solemn  twilight-purple  of  coming  agony 
into  which  the  noonday  of  His  happier  ministry  had  long 
since  begun  to  fade? 


THE  BEOmmNO  OF  THE  END.  417 

CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE   BEGINNING   OF    THE   END. 

It  was  inevitable  that  the  burning  words  of  indignation 
which  Jesus  had  uttered  on  this  last  great  day  of  His 
ministry  should  exasperate  beyond  all  control  the  hatred 
and  fury  of  the  priestly  party  among  the  Jews.  Not  only 
had  they  been  defeated  and  abashed  in  open  encounter  in 
the  very  scene  of  their  highest  dignity,  and  in  the  presence 
of  their  most  devoted  adherents  ;  not  only  had  they  been 
forced  to  confess  their  ignorance  to  that  very  Scripture 
exegesis  which  was  their  recognized  domain,  and  their 
incapacity  to  pronounce  an  opinion  on  a  subject  respect- 
ing which  it  was  their  professed  duty  to  decide;  but,  after 
all  this  humiliation,  He  whom  they  despised  as  the  young 
and  ignorant  Rabbi  of  Nazareth — He  who  neglected  their 
customs  and  discountenanced  their  traditions — He  on 
whose  words,  to  them  so  pernicious,  the  people  hung  in 
rapt  attention — had  suddenly  turned  upon  them,  within 
hearing  of  the  very  Hall  of  Meeting,  and  had  pronounced 
upon  them — upon  them  in  the  odor  of  their  sanctity — w^on 
them  who  were  accustomed  to  breathe  all  their  lives  the 
incense  of  unbounded  adulation — a  woe  so  searching,  so 
scathing,  so  memorably  intense,  that  none  who  heard  it 
could  forget  it  for  evermore.  It  was  time  that  this  should 
end.  Pharisees,  Sadducees,  Herodians,  Priests,  Scribes, 
Elders,  Annas  the  astute  and  tyrannous,  Caiaphas  the 
abject  and  servile,  were  all  now  aroused  ;  and,  dreading 
they  knew  not  what  outburst  of  religious  anarchy, 
which  would  shake  the  very  foundations  of  their  system, 
they  met  together  probably  on  that  very  evening  in  the 
Palace  of  Caiaphas,  sinking  all  their  own  diiferences  in  a 
common  inspiration  of  hatred  against  that  long-promised 
Messiah  in  whom  they  only  recognized  a  common  enemy. 
It  was  an  alliance,  for  His  destruction,  of  fanaticism,  un- 
belief, and  worldliness  ;  the  rage  of  the  bigoted,  the  con- 
tempt of  the  atheist,  and  the  dislike  of  the  utilitarian;  and 
it  seemed  but  too  clear  that  from  the  revengeful  hate  of 
such  a  combination  no  earthly  power  was  adequate  to  save. 


418  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Of  the  particulars  of  the  meeting  we  know  nothing; 
but  the  Evangelists  record  the  two  conclusions  at  which 
the  high  conspirators  arrived — the  one  a  yet  more  decisive 
and  emphatic  renewal  of  the  vote  that  He  must,  at  all 
hazards,  be  put  to  death  without  delay  ;  the  other,  that  it 
must  be  done  by  subtilty,  and  not  by  violence,  for  fear  of 
the  multitude;  and  that,  for  the  same  reason — not  because 
of  the  sacredness  of  the  Feast — the  murder  must  be  post- 
poned, until  the  conclusion  of  the  Passover  had  caused 
the  dispersion  of  the  countless  pilgrims  to  their  own 
homes. 

This  meeting  was  held,  in  all  probability,  on  the  even- 
ing of  Tuesday,  while  the  passions  which  the  events  of 
that  day  had  kindled  were  still  raging  with  volcanic 
energy.  So  that,  at  the  very  moment  while  they  were 
deciding  that  during  that  Easter-tide  our  Passover  should 
not  be  slain — at  that  very  moment,  seated  on  the  slopes  of 
Olivet,  Jesus  was  foretelling  to  His  disciples  with  the 
calmest  certainty,  that  He  should  be  sacrificed  on  the  very 
day  on  which,  at  evening,  the  lamb  was  sacrificed,  and  the 
Paschal  feast  began. 

Accordingly,  before  the  meeting  was  over,  an  event 
occurred  which  at  once  altered  the  conclusions  of  the 
council,  and  rendered  possible  the  immediate  capture  of 
Jesus  without  the  tumult  which  they  dreaded.  The 
eight  days'  respite  from  the  bitter  sentence  of  death, 
which  their  terror,  not  their  mercy,  had  accorded  him, 
was  to  be  withdrawn,  and  the  secret  blow  was  to  be  struck 
at  once. 

For  before  they  separated  a  message  reached  them  which 
shot  a  gleam  of  fierce  joy  into  their  hearts,  while  we  may 
well  imagine  that  it  also  filled  them  with  something  of 
surprise  and  awe.  Conscious  as  they  must  have  been  in 
their  inmost  hearts  how  deep  was  the  crime  which  they 
intended  to  commit,  it  must  have  almost  startled  them 
thus  to  find  "the  tempting  opportunity  at  once  meeting 
the  guilty  disposition,"  and  the  Evil  Spirit  making  their  way 
straight  before  their  face.  They  were  informed  that  the 
man  who  knew  Jesus,  who  had  been  with  Him,  who  had 
been  His  disciple — nay,  more,  one  of  the  Twelve — was 
ready  to  put  an  immediate  end  to  their  perplexities,  and 
to  reopen  with  them  the  communication  which  he  had 
already  made. 


T3E  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  419 

The  house  of  Caiaphas  was  probably  in  or  near  the 
Temple  precincts.  The  gates  both  of  the  city  and  of  the 
Temple  were  usually  closed  at  sundown,  but  at  the  time 
of  this  vast  yearly  gathering  it  was  natural  that  the  rules 
should  have  been  a  little  relaxed  for  the  general  conven- 
ience ;  and  when  Judas  shink  away  from  his  brethren  on 
that  fatal  evening  he  would  rely  on  being  admitted  with- 
out difficulty  within  the  city  precincts,  and  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  assembled  elders.  He  applied  accordingly  to 
the  "captains"  of  the  Temple,  the  members  of  the  Leviti- 
cal  guard  who  had  the  care  of  the  sacred  buildings,  and 
they  at  once  announced  his  message,  and  brought  him  in 
person  before  the  priests  and  rulers  of  the  Jews. 

Some  of  the  priests  had  already  seen  him  at  their 
previous  meeting  ;  others  would  doubtless  recognize  him. 
If  Judas  resembled  the  conce^Jtion  of  him  which  tradition 
has  handed  down — 

"  That  furtive  mien,  that  scowling  eye, 
Of  hair  that  red  and  tufted  fell  " — 

they  could  have  hardly  failed  to  notice  the  man  of  Kerioth 
as  one  of  those  who  followed  Jesus — perhaps  to  despise 
and  to  detest  him,  as  almost  the  only  Jew  among  the 
Galilsean  Apostles.  And  now  they  were  to  be  leagued 
with  him  in  wickedness.  The  fact  that  one  who  had 
lived  with  Jesus,  who  had  heard  all  He  had  said  and  seen 
all  He  had  done — was  yet  ready  to  betray  Him — strength- 
ened them  in  their  purpose  ;  the  fact  that  they,  the 
hierarchs  and  nobles,  were  ready  not  only  to  praise,  but  even 
to  reward  Judas  for  what  he  proposed  to  do,  strengthened 
liivi  in  his  dark  and  desperate  design.  As  in  water  face 
answereth  to  face,  so  did  the  heart  of  Judas  and  of  the 
Jews  become  assimilated  by  the  reflection  of  mutual 
sympathy.  As  iron  sharpeneth  iron,  so  did  the  blunt 
weapon  of  his  brutal  anger  give  fresh  edge  to  their  polished 
hate. 

Whether  the  hideous  demand  for  blood-money  had  come 
from  him,  or  had  been  suggested  by  them;  whether  it  was 
paid  immediately,  or  only  after  the  ari-est ;  whether  the 
wretched  and  paltry  sum  given — thirty  shekels,  the  price 
of  the  meanest  slave — was  Ihe  total  reward,  or  only  the 
earnest  of  a  further  and  larger  sum — these  are  questions 


450  Tllli:  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

which  would  throw  a  strong  light  on  the  character  and 
motives  of  Judas,  but  to  which  the  general  language  of  the 
Evangelists  enables  us  to  give  no  cci'tain  answer.  The 
details  of  the  transaction  were  probably  but  little  known. 
Neither  Judas  nor  his  venerable  abettors  had  any  cause  to 
dwell  on  them  with  satisfaction.  The  Evangelists  and 
the  early  Christians  generally,  when  they  speak  of  Judas, 
seem  to  be  filled  with  a  spirit  of  shuddering  abhorrence  too 
deep  for  words.  Only  one  dark  fact  stood  out  before  their 
imagination  in  all  its  horror,  and  that  was  that  Judas  was 
a  traitor  ;  tiiat  Judas  had  been  one  of  the  Twelve,  and 
yet  had  sold  his  Lord.  Probably  he  received  the  money, 
such  as  it  was,  at  once.  With  the  gloating  eyes  of  that 
avarice,  which  was  his  besetting  sin,  he  might  gaze  on  the 
silver  coins,  stamped  (oh,  strange  irony  of  history  !)  on  one 
side  with  an  olive-branch,  the  symbol  of  peace,  on  the 
other  with  a  censer,  the  type  of  prayer,  and  bearing  on 
them  the  superscription,  "  Jerusalem  tlte  Holy."  And 
probably  if  those  elders  chaffered  with  him  after  the 
fashion  of  their  race,  as  the  narrative  seems  to  imi)ly,  they 
might  have  represented  that,  aft§r  all,  his  agency  was 
unessential  ,  that  he  might  do  them  a  service  which  would 
be  regarded  as  a  small  convenience,  but  they  could  carry 
out  their  purpose,  if  they  chose,  without  his  aid.  One 
thing,  however,  is  certain  ;  he  left  them  a  pledged  traitor, 
and  henceforth  only  sought  the  opportunity  to  betray  his 
Master  when  no  part  of  the  friendly  multitude  was  near. 
What  were  the  motives  of  this  man?  Who  can  attempt 
to  fathom  the  unutterable  abyss,  to  find  his  way  amid  the 
weltering  chaos,  of  a  heart  agitated  by  unresisted  and 
besetting  sins?  The  Evangelists  can  say  nothing  but  that 
Satan  entered  into  liim.  The  guilt  of  the  man  seemed  to 
them  too  abnormal  for  any  natural  or  human  explanation. 
The  narratives  of  the  Synoptists  point  distinctly  to  avarice 
as  the  cause  of  his  ruin.  They  place  his  first  overtures  to 
the  Sanhedrin  in  close  and  pointed  connection  with  the 
qualm  of  disgust  he  felt  at  being  unable  to  secure  any 
pilferings  from  the  "three  hundred  pence,"  of  which, 
since  they  might  have  come  into  his  possession,  he  re- 
garded himself  as  having  been  robbed  ;  and  St.  John,  who 
can  never  speak  of  \\\n\  witliout  a  slindder  of  disgust,  says 
in  so  many  words  than  he  was  an  habitual  thief  (John  xii. 


THE  BEGINNINO  OF  THE  END.  421 

6).  How  little  insight  can  they  have  into  the  fatal  bond- 
age and  diffusiveness  of  a  besetting  sin,  into  the  dense 
spiritual  blindness  and  awful  infatuation  with  which  it 
confounds  the  guilty,  who  cannot  believe  in  so  apparently 
inadequate  a  motive  !  Yet  the  commonest  observance  of 
daily  facts  which  come  before  our  notice  in  the  moral 
world,  might  serve  to  show  that  the  commission  of  crime 
results  as  frequently  from  a  motive  that  seems  miserably 
small  and  inadequate,  as  from  some  vast  and  abnormal 
temptation.  Do  we  not  read  in  the  Old  Testament  of 
those  that  pollute  God  among  the  people  "  for  handfuls  of 
barley  and  for  pieces  of  bread  ; "  of  those  who  sell  *'  the 
righteous  for  silver  and  the  poor  for  a  pair  of  shoes?  "  The 
sudden  crisis  of  temptation  might  seem  frightful,  but  its 
issue  was  decided  by  the  entire  tenor  of  his  previous  life  ; 
the  sudden  blaze  of  lurid  light  was  but  the  outcome  of  that 
which  had  long  burnt  and  smouldered  deep  within  his 
heart. 

Doubtless  other  motives  mingled  with,  strengthened — 
perhaps  to  the  self-deceiving  and  blinded  soul  substituted 
themselves  for  —  the  predominant  one.  "Will  not  this 
measure,"  he  may  have  thought,  "force  Him  to  declare 
His  Messianic  kingdom?  At  the  worst,  can  He  not 
easily  save  himself  by  miracle?  If  not,  has  He  not  told  us 
repeatedly  that  He  will  die;  and  if  so,  why  _  may  I  not 
reap  a  little  advantage  from  that  which  is  in  any  case 
inevitable?  Or  will  it  not,  perhaps,  be  meritorious  to  do 
that  of  which  all  the  chief  priests  approve."  A  thousand 
such  devilish  suggestions  may  have  formulated  themselves 
in  the  traitor's  heart,  and  mingled  with  them  was  the  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  which  he  suffered  from  finding  that  his 
self-denial  in  following  Jesus  would,  after  all,  be  apparently 
in  vain;  that  he  would  gain  from  it,  not  rank  and  wealth, 
but  only  poverty  and  persecution.  Perhaps,  too,  there 
was  something  of  rancor  at  being  rebuked;  perhaps  some- 
thing of  bitter  jealousy  at  being  less  loved  by  Christ  than 
his  fellows;  perhaps  something  of  frenzied  disappointment  at 
the  prospect  of  failure;  perhaps  something  of  despairing 
hatred  at  the  consciousness  that  he  was  suspected.  Alas  ! 
sins  grow  and  multiply  with  fatal  diffusiveness,  and  blend 
insensibly  with  hosts  of  their  evil  kindred.  "The  whole 
moral  nature  is  clouded  by  them;  the  intellect  darkened; 


422  THE  LIFE  OF  CURI8T. 

the  spirit  stained."  Probably  by  this  time  a  turbid  confused 
chaos  of  sins  was  weltering  in  the  soul  of  Judas — malice, 
worldly  ambition,  theft,  hatred  of  all  that  was  good  and 
pure,  base  ingratitude,  frantic  anger,  all  culminating  in  this 
foul  and  frightful  act  of  treachery — all  rushing  with  blind, 
bewildering  fury  through  this  gloomy  soul. 

"■  Satan  entered  into  him."  That,  after  all,  whether  a 
literal  or  a  metaphorical  expression,  best  describes  his 
awful  state.  It  was  a  madness  of  disenchantment  from 
selfish  hopes.  Having  persuaded  himself  tliat  the  New 
Kingdom  was  a  mere  empty  fraud,  he  is  suffered  to  be- 
come the  victim  of  a  delusion,  which  led  him  into  a  terri- 
ble conviction  that  he  had  flung  away  the  substance  for 
a  shadow.  It.  had  not  been  always  thus  with  him.  He 
had  not  been  always  bad.  The  day  had  been  when  he  was 
au  innocent  boy — a  youth  sufficiently  earnest  to  be  singled 
out  from  other  disciples  as  one  of  the  Twelve — a  herald  of 
the  New  Kingdom  not  without  high  hopes.  The  poverty 
and  the  wanderings  of  the  early  period  of  the  ministry  may 
have  protected  him  from  temptation.  The  special  tempta- 
tion— trebly  dangerous,  because  it  appealed  to  his  beset- 
ting sin — may  have  begun  at  that  period  when  our  Lord's 
work  assumed  a  slightly  more  settled  and  organized  char- 
acter. Even  tlien  it  did  not  master  him  at  once.  He  had 
received- warnings  of  fearful  solemnity  (John  vi.  70)  ;  for 
some  time  tliere  may  have  been  hope  for  him;  he  may 
have  experienced  relapses  into  dishonesty  after  recoveries 
of  nobleness.  But  as  he  did  not  master  his  sin,  his  sin 
mastered  him,  and  led  him  on,  as  a  slave,  to  his  retribu- 
tion and  ruin.  Did  he  slink  back  to  Bethany  that  night 
with  the  blood-money  in  his  bag?  Did  he  sleep  among  his 
fellow  apostles?  All  that  we  know  is  that  henceforth  he 
was  ever  anxiously,  eagerly,  suspiciously  upon  the  watch. 

And  the  next  day  —  the  Wednesday  in  Passion  week  — 
must  have  baffled  him.  Each  day  Jesus  had  left  Bethany 
in  the  morning  and  had  gone  to  Jerusalem.  Why  did  He  not 
go  on  that  day?  Did  He  suspect  treachery?  That  day  in 
the  Temple  Courts  the  multitude  listened  for  His  voice  in 
vain.  Doubtless  tlie  people  waited  for  Him  with  intense 
expectation;  doubtless  the  priests  and  Pharisees  looked  out 
for  Him  with  sinister  hope;  but  He  did  not  come.  The 
day  was  spent  by  Him  in  deep  seclusion,  so  far  as  we  know 


THE  LAST  SUPPER.  423 

in  perfect  rest  and  silence.  He  prepared  Himself  in  peace 
and  prayer  for  the  avvf illness  of  His  coming  struggle.  It 
may  be  that  He  wandered  alone  to  the  hilly  uplands  above 
and  around  the  quiet  village,  and  there,  under  the  vernal 
sunshine,  held,  high  communing  with  His  Father  in 
Heaven.  But  how  the  day  was  passed  by  Him  we  do  not 
know.  A  veil  of  holy  silence  falls  over  it.  He  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  few  who  loved  Him  and  believed  in  Him. 
To  them  He  may  have  spoken,  but  His  work  as  a  teacher 
on  earth  was  done. 

And  on  that  night  He  lay  down  for  the  last  time  on 
earth.  On  the  Thursday  morning  He  woke  never  to  sleep 
again. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

THE   LAST   SUPPER. 

On"  the  Tuesday  evening  in  Passion  week  Jesus  had 
spoken  of  the  Passover  as  the  season  of  His  death.  H  the 
customs  enjoined  by  the  Law  had  been  capable  of  rigid  and 
exact  fulfillment,  the  Paschal  lamb  for  the  use  of  Himself 
and  His  disciples  would  have  been  set  apart  on  the  pre- 
vious Sunday  evening;  but  although,  since  the  days  of  the 
exile  the  Passover  had  been  observed,  it  is  probable  that 
the  changed  circumstances  of  the  nation  had  introduced 
many  natural  and  perfectly  justifiable  changes  in  the  old 
regulations.  It  would  have  been  a  simple  impossibility  for 
the  myriads  of  pilgrims  to  provide  themselves  beforehand 
with  a  Paschal  lamb. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  Thursday— Green  Thursday, 
as  it  used  to  be  called  during  the  Middle  Ages — that  some 
conversation  took  place  between  Jesus  and  His  disciples 
about  the  Paschal  feast.  They  asked  Him  where  He  wished 
the  preparation  for  it  to  be  made.  As  He  had  now  with- 
drawn from  all  public  teaching,  and  was  spending  this 
Tiiursday,  as  He  had  spent  the  previous  day,  in  complete 
seclusion,  they  probably  expected  that  He  would  eat  the 
Passover  at  Bethany,  which  for  such  purposes  had  been 
decided  by  rabbinical  authority  to  be  within  the  limits  of 
Jerusalem.     But  His  plans  were  otherwise.     He,  the  true 


424  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Paschal  Lamb,  was  to  be  sacrificed  once  aud  forever  in  the 
Holy  City,  where  it  is  probable  that  in  that  very  Passover, 
and  "on  the  very  same  day,  some  260,000  of  those  lambs  of 
which  He  was  the  antitype  were  destined  to  be  slain. 

Accordingly  He  sent  Peter  and  John  to  Jerusalem,  and 
appointing  for  them  a  sign  both  mysterionsand  secret,  told 
them  that  on  entering  tlie  gate  they  would  meet  a  servant 
carrying  a'  pitcher  of  water  from  one  of  the  fountains  for 
evening  use;  following  him  ihey  would  reach  a  house,  to 
the  owner  of  which  they  were  to  intimate  the  intention 
of  the  Master  to  eat  the  Passover  there  with  His  disciples; 
and  this  householder — conjectured  by  some  to  have  been 
Joseph  of  Arimathaea,  by  others  John  Mark  —  would  at 
once  place  at  their  disposal  a  furnished  upper  room,  ready 
provided  with  the  requisite  table  and  couches.  They 
found  all  as  Jesus  had  said,  and  there  "  made  ready  the 
Passover."  There  are  ample  reasons  for  believing  that 
this  was  not  the  ordinary  Jewish  Passover,  but  a  meal 
eaten  by  our  Lord  and  His  Apostles  on  the  previous  even- 
ing, Thursday,  Nisan  13,  to  which  a  quasi- Paschal  char- 
acter was  given,  but  which  was  intended  to  supersede  the 
Jewish  festival  by  one  of  far  deeper  aud  diviner  signifi- 
cance. 

It  was  toward  the  evening  probably,  when  the  gathering 
dusk  would  prevent  all  needless  observation,  that  Jesus 
aud  His  disciples  walked  from  Bethany,  by  that  old 
familiar  road  over  the  Mount  of  Olives,  which  His  sacred 
feet  were  never  again  destined  to  traverse  until  after  death. 
How  far  they  attracted  attention,  or  how  it  was  that  He 
whose  person  was  known  to  so  many  —  and  who,  as  the 
great  central  figure  of  such  great  counter  agitations,  had, 
four  days  before,  been  accompanied  with  shouts  of  triumph, 
as  He  v/ould  be,  on  the  following  day,  with  yells  of  insult 
—  could  now  enter  Jerusalem  unnoticed  with  His  follow- 
ers, we  cannot  tell.  We  catch  no  glimpse  of  the  little 
companv  till  we  find  them  assembled- in  that  'Marge  upper 
room  "—perhaps  the  very  room  where  three  days  afterward 
the  sorrow-stricken  Apostles  first  saw  their  risen  Saviour  — 
perhaps  the  very  room  where,  amid  the  sound  of  a  rushing 
mighty  wind,  each  meek  brow  was  first  mitered  with  Pente- 
costal flame. 

When  they  arrived,    the    meal   was    ready,   the  table 


THE  LAST  SUPPER.  425 

spread,  the  triclinia  laid  with  cushions  for  the  guests. 
Imagiuatiou  loves  to  reproduce  all  the  probable  details  of 
that  deeply  moving  and  eternally  sacred  scene;  and  if  we 
compare  the  notices  of  ancient  Jewish  custom,  with  the 
immemorial  fashions  still  existing  in  the  changeless  East, 
we  can  feel  but  little  doubt  as  to  the  general  nature  of  the 
arrangements.  They  were  totally  unlike  those  with  which 
the  genius  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  and  other  great  painters, 
has  made  us  so  familiar.  The  room  probably  had  white 
walls,  and  was  bare  of  all  except  the  most  necessary  furni- 
ture and  adornment. »  The  couches  or  cushions,  each  large 
enough  to  hold  three  persons,  were  placed  around  three 
sides  of  one  or  more  low  tables  of  gayly  painted  wood,  each 
scarcely  higher  than  stools.  The  seat  of  honor  was  the 
central  one  of  the  central  tridiniuni,  or  mat.  This  was, 
of  course,  occupied  by  the  Lord.  Each  guest  reclined  at 
full  length,  leaning  on  his  left  elbow,  that  his  right  hand 
might  be  free.  At  the  right  hand  of  Jesus  reclined  the 
beloved  disciple,  whose  head  therefore  could,  at  any 
moment,  be  placed  upon  the  breast  of  his  friend  and  Lord. 
It  may  be  that  the  very  act  of  taking  their  seats  at  the 
table  had,  once  more,  stirred  up  in  the  minds  of  the 
Apostles  those  disputes  about  precedence  which,  on  pre- 
vious occasions,  our  Lord  had  so  tenderly  and  beautifully 
rebuked.  The  mere  question  of  a  place  at  table  might 
seem  a  matter  too  infinitesimal  and  unimportant  to  ruffle 
the  feelings  of  good  and  self-denying  men  at  an  hour  so 
supreme  and  solemn;  but  that  love  for  "  the  chief  seats" 
at  feasts  and  elsewhere,  which  Jesus  had  denounced  in  the 
Pharisees,  is  not  only  innate  in  the  human  heart,  but  is 
even  so  powerful  that  it  has  at  times  caused  the  most  ter- 
rific tragedies.  But  at  this  moment,  when  the  soul  of 
Jesus  was  full  of  such  sublime  purpose  —  when  lie  was 
breathing  the  pure  unmingled  air  of  Eternity,  and  the 
Eternal  was  to  Him,  in  spite  of  His  mortal  investiture, 
not  only  the  present  but  the  seen  —  a  strife  of  this  kind 
must  have  been  more  than  ever  painful.  It  showed  how 
little,  as  yet,  even  these  His  chosen  followers  had  entered 
into  the  meaning  of  His  life.  It  showed  that  the  evil 
spirits  of  pride  and  selfishness  were  not  yet  exorcised  from 
their  struggling  souls.  It  showed  that,  even  now,  they 
had  wholly  failed   to  understand   His   many  and  earnest 


426  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

warnings  as  to  the  nature  of  His  kingdom,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  His  fate.  That  souie  great  crisis  whs  at  hand  — 
that  tlieir  Master  was  to  snifer  and  be  slain  —  they  miist 
have  partially  realized  :  but  they  seem  to  have  regarded 
this  as  a  mere  temporary  obscuration,  to  be  followed  by  an 
immediate  divulgence  of  His  splendor,  and  the  setting  up 
on  earth  of  His  Messianic  throne. 

In  pained  silence  Jesus  had  heard  their  murmured  jeal- 
ousies, while  they  were  arranging  their  places  at  the  feast. 
Not  by  mere  verbal  reproof,  but  by  act  more  profoundly 
significant  and  touching.  He  determined  to  teach  to  them, 
and  to  all  who  love  Him,  a  nobler  lesson. 

Every  Eastern  room,  if  it  belongs  to  any  but  the  very 
poorest,  has  the  central  part  of  the  floor  covered  with  mats, 
and  as  a  person  enters,  he  lays  aside  his  sandals  at  the  door 
of  the  room,  mainly  in  order  not  to  defile  the  clean  white 
mats  with  the  dust  and  dirt  of  the  road  or  streets,  and  also 
(at  any  rate  among  Mahometans)  because  the  mat  is  hal- 
lowed by  being  knelt  upon  in  prayer.  Before  they  reclined 
at  the  table,  the  disciples  had  doubtless  conformed  to  this 
cleanly  and  reasonable  custom;  but  another  customary  and 
pleasant  habit,  which  we  know  that  Jesus  appreciated,  had 
been  neglected.  Their  feet  must  have  been  covered  with 
dust  from  their  walk  along  the  hot  and  much  frequented 
road  from  Bethany  to  Jerusalem,. and  under  such  circum- 
stances they  would  have  been  refreshed  for  the  festival  by 
washing  their  feet  after  putting  off  their  sandals.  But  to 
wash  the  feet  was  the  work  of  slaves;  and  since  no  one  had 
offered  to  perform  the  kindly  office,  Jesus  Himself,  in  His 
eternal  humility  and  self-denial,  rose  from  His  place  at  the 
meal  to  do  the  menial  service  which  none  of  His  disciples 
had  offered  to  do  for  Him.  Well  may  the  amazement  of 
the  beloved  disciple  show  itself  in  his  narrative,  as  he 
dwells  on  every  particular  of  that  solemn  scene.  "  Though 
He  knew  that  the  Father  had  given  all  things  into  His 
hands,  and  that  He  came  from  God  and  was  going  to 
God,  He  arose  from  the  supper  and  laid  aside  His  gar- 
ments, and  taking  a  towel,  girded  Himself."  It  is  prob- 
able that  in  the  utterness  of  self-abnegation.  He  entirely 
stripped  His  upper  limbs,  laying  aside  both  the  simchah 
and  the  cetoneth,  as  though  He  had  been  the  meanest 
slave,  and  wrapping  the  towel  round  His  waist.     Then 


THE  LAST  SUPPER.  427 

pouring  water  into  the  large  copper  basin  with  which  an 
Oriental  house  is  always  provided,  He  began  without  a 
word  to  wash  His  disciples'  feet,  and  wipe  them  dry  with 
the  towel  which  served  Him  as  a  girdle.  Awe  and  shame 
kept  them  silent  until  He  came  to  Peter,  whose  irrepress- 
ible emotions  found  vent  in  the  surprised,  half-indignant 
question,  "Lord,  dost  Thou  seek  to  wash  my  feet?"  Thou, 
the  Son  of  God,  the  King  of  Israel,  who  hast  the  words  of 
eternal  life — Thou,  whose  feet  Oriental  kings  should  anoint 
with  the  costliest  spikenard,  and  penitents  bathe  in  pre- 
cious tears — dost  thou  wash  Peter's  feet?  It  was  the  old 
dread  and  self-depreciation  which,  more  than  three  years 
before,  had  prompted  the  cry  of  the  rude  fisherman  of 
Galilee,  "Depart  from  me,  for  I  am  a  sinful  man,  0 
Lord  ;"  it  was  the  old  self-will  which,  a  year  before,  had 
expressed  itself  in  the  self-confident  dissuasion  of  the  elated 
Man  of  Rock — "  That  be  far  from  Thee,  Lord  ;  this  shall 
not  happen  unto  Thee/'  Gently  recognizing  what  was 
good  in  His  impetuous  follower's  ejaculation,  Jesus  calmly 
tells  him  that  as  yet  he  is  too  immature  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  His  actions,  though  the  day  should  come  when 
their  significance  should  dawn  upon  him.  But  Peter, 
obstinate  and  rash — as  though  he  felt,  even  more  than  his 
Lord,  the  greatness  of  Him  that  ministered,  and  the  mean- 
ness of  him  to  whom  the  service  would  be  done — persisted 
in  his  opposition:  "Never,  never,  till  the  end  of  time,"  he 
impetuously  exclaims,  "  shalt  thou  wash  my  feet?"  But 
then  Jesus  revealed  to  him  the  dangerous  self-assertion 
which  lurked  in  this  false  humility.  "  If  I  wash  thee  not, 
thou  hast  no  share  with  me."  Alike,  thy  self-conceit  and 
thy  self-disgust  must  be  laid  aside  if  thou  wouldst  be  mine. 
My  follower  must  accept  my  will,  even  when  he  least  can 
comprehend  it,  even  when  it  seems  to  violate  his  own  con- 
ceptions of  what  I  am.  That  calm  word  changed  the 
whole  current  of  thought  and  feeling  in  the  warm-hearted, 
passionate  disciple.  "  No  share  with  Thee  ?  oh  forbid  it, 
Heaven  I  Lord,  not  my  feet  only,  but  also  my  hands  and 
my  head!"  But  no:  once  more  he  must  accept  what  Christ 
wills,  not  in  his  own  way,  but  in  Christ's  way.  This  total 
washing  was  not  needed.  The  baptism  of  his  initiation  was 
over  ;  in  that  laver  of  regeneration  he  had  been  already 
dipped.    Notliing  more  was  needed  than  the  daily  cleansing 


428  THE  LIFE  OF  CUEIST. 

from  minor  and  freshly-contracted  stains.  The  feet  soiled 
with  the  clinging  dust  of  daily  sins,  these  must  be  washed 
in  daily  renovation  ;  but  the  heart  and  being  of  the  man, 
these  were  already  washed,  were  cleansed,  were  sancti- 
fied. •'  Jesus  saitli  to  him.  He  that  is  bathed  (leXovjusvos) 
hath  no  need  save  to  wash  (vitpcxdOai)  his  feet,  but  is 
clean  every  whit.  And  ye  are  clean  ;"  and  then  He  was 
forced  to  add  with  a  deep  sigh,  *'but  not  all."  The 
last  words  were  an  allusion  to  His  consciousness  of  one 
traitorious  presence  ;  for  He  knew,  what  as  yet  they  knew 
not,  that  the  hands  of  the  Lord  of  Life  had  just  washed 
the  traitor's  feet.  Oh,  strange  unfathomable  depth  of 
human  infatuation  and  ingratitude  ;  that  traitor,  with  all 
the  black  and  accursed  treachery  in  his  false  heart,  had 
seen,  had  known,  had  suffered  it ;  had  felt  the  touch  of 
those  kind  and  gentle  hands,  had  been  refj'eshed  by  the 
cleansing  water,  had  seen  that  sacred  head  bent  over  his 
feet,  stained  as  they  yet  were  with  the  hurried  secret  walk 
which  had  taken  him  into  the  throng  of  sanctimonious 
murderers  over  the  shoulder  of  Olivet.  But  for  him  there 
had  been  no  purification  in  that  lustral  water  ;  neither  was 
the  devil  within  him  exorcised  by  that  gentle  voice,  nor  the 
leprosy  of  his  heart  healed  by  that  miracle-producing  touch. 
The  other  Apostles  did  not  at  the  moment  notice  that 
grievous  exception — "  but  not  all."  It  may  be  that  their 
consciences  gave  to  all,  even  to  the  most  faithful,  too  sad 
a  cause  to  echo  the  words,  with  something  of  misgiving,  to 
his  own  soul.  Then  Jesus,  after  having  waslied  their 
feet,  resumed  His  garments,  and  once  more  reclined  at  the 
meal.  As  He  leaned  there  on  His  left  elbow,  John  lay  at 
His  right,  with  his  head  quite  close  to  Jesus'  breast. 
Next  to  John,  and  at  the  top  of  the  next  mat  or  cushion, 
would  probably  be  his  brother  James  ;  and — as  we  infer 
from  the  few  details  of  the  meal — at  the  left  of  Jesus  lay 
the  Man  of  Kerioth,  who  may  either  have  thrust  himself 
into  that  position,  or  who,  as  the  holder  of  the  common 
purse,  occupied  a  place  of  some  prominence  among  the 
little  band.  It  seems  probable  that  Peter's  place  was  at 
the  top  of  the  next  mat,  and  at  the  left  of  Judas.  And 
as  the  meal  began,  Jesus  taught  them  what  His  act  had 
meant.  -Rightly,  and  with  proper  respect,  they  called  Him 
''^  Master  "  and  "Lord,''  for  so  He  was;  yet,  though  the 


THE  LAST  SXTPPEU.  429 

Lord  is  greater  than  the  slave,  the  Sender  greater  than  His 
Apostle,  He  their  Lord  and  Master  had  washed  their  feet. 
It  was  a  kind  and  gracious  task,  and  such  ought  to  be  the 
nature  of  all  their  dealings  with  each  other.  He  had  done 
it  to  teach  them  humility,  to  teach  them  self-denial,  to 
teach  them  love :  blessed  the}'  if  they  learnt  the  lesson  ! 
blessed  if  they  learnt  that  the  struggles  for  precedeiice,  the 
assertions  of  claims,  the  standings  upon  dignity,  the  fond- 
ness for  the  mere  exercise  of  autliority,  marked  the  tyran- 
nies and  immaturities  of  heathendom,  and  that  the  greatest 
Christian  is  ever  the  humblest.  He  should  be  chief  among 
them  who,  for  the  sake  of  others,  gladly  laid  on  Himself 
the  lowliest  burdens,  and  sought  for  Himself  the  humblest 
services.  Again  and  again  He  warned  them  that  they  were 
not  to  look  for  earthly  reward  or  earthly  prosperity  ;  the 
throne,  and  the  table,  and  the  kingdom,  and  the  many 
mansions  were  not  of  earth. 

And  then  again  the  trouble  of  His  spirit  broke  forth. 
He  was  speaking  of  those  whom  He  had  chosen  ;  He  was 
not  speaking  of  them  all.  Among  the  blessed  company 
sat  one  who  even  then  was  drawing  on  his  own  head  a 
curse.  It  had  been  so  with  David,  whose  nearest  friend 
had  become  his  bitterest  foe  ;  it  was  foreordained  tliat  it 
should  be  so  likewise  with  David's  Son.  Soon  should  they 
know  with  what  full  foreknowledge  He  had  gone  to  all 
that  awaited  Him ;  soon  should  they  be  able  to  judge  that, 
just  as  the  man  who  receives  in  Christ's  name  His  hum- 
blest servant  receiveth  Him,  so  the  rejection  of  Him  is  the 
rejection  of  His  Father,  and  that  this  rejection  of  the  Liv- 
ing God  was  the  crime  which  at  this  moment  was  being 
committed,  and  committed  in  their  very  midst. 

There,  next  but  one  to  Him,  hearing  all  these  words 
unmoved,  full  of  spite  and  hatred,  utterly  hardening  his 
heart,  and  leaning  the  whole  weight  of  his  demoniac  pos- 
session against  that  door  of  mercy  which  even  now  and 
even  here  His  Saviour  w-ould  have  opened  to  him,  sat 
Judas,  the  false  smile  of  hypocrisy  on  his  face,  but  rage, 
and  shame,  and  greed,  and  anguish,  and  treachery  in  his 
heart.  The  near  presence  of  that  black  iniquity,  the 
failure  of  even  his  pathetic  lowliness  to  move  or  touch  the 
man's  hideous  purpose,  troubled  the  human  heart  of  Jesus 
to  its  inmost  depths — wrung  from  ILm  His  agony  of  yet 


430  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

plainer  prediction,  "Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  that 
one  of  yoH  shall  betray  me  !"  Tliat  nitjht  all,  even  the 
best  beloved,  were  to  forsake  llim,  but  it  was  not  that ; 
that  night  even  the  boldest-hearted  was  to  deny  Ilim  with 
oaths,  but  it  was  not  that ;  nay,  but  one  of  thein  was  to 
betray  Him.  Their  hearts  misgave  them  as  they  listened. 
Already  a  deep  unspeakable  sadness  had  fallen  over  the 
sacred  meal.  Like  the  sombre  and  threatening  crimson 
that  intermingles  with  the  colors  of  sunset,  a  dark  omen 
seemed  to  be  overshadowing  them — a  shapeless  presenti- 
ment of  evil — an  unspoken  sense  of  dread.  If  all  their 
hopes  were  to  be  thus  blighted — if  at  this  very  Passover, 
He  for  whom  they  had  given  up  all,  and  who  had  been  to 
them  all  in  all,  was  indeed  to  be  betrayed  by  one  of  them- 
selves to  an  unpitied  and  ignominious  end — if  this  were 
possible,  anything  seemed  possible.  Their  hearts  were 
troubled.  All  their  want  of  nobility,  all  their  failure  in. 
love,  all  the  depth  of  their  selfishness,  all  the  weakness  of 
their  faith — 

"  Every  evil  tliouglit  they  ever  thought. 
And  every  evil  word  they  ever  said, 
And  every  evil  thing  they  ever  did," 

all  crowded  upon  their  memories,  and  made  their  con- 
sciences afraid.  None  of  them  seemed  safe  from  anything, 
and  each  read  his  own  self-distrust  in  his  brother-disciple's 
eye.  And  hence,  at  that  moment  of  supreme  sadness  and 
almost  despair,  it  was  with  lips  that  faltered  and  cheeks 
that  paled,  that  each  asked  the  humble  question,  ''  Lord, 
is  it  I?"  Better  always  that  question  than  "Is  it  he?" — 
better  the  penitent  watchfulness  of  a  self-condemning 
humility  than  the  haughty  Pharisaism  of  censorious 
pride.  The  very  horror  that  breathed  through  their 
question,  the  very  trustfulness  which  prompted  it,  in- 
volved their  acquittal.  Jesus  only  remained  silent,  in 
order  that  even  then,  if  it  were  possible,  there  might  be 
time  for  Judas  to  repent.  But  Peter  was  unable  to  restrain 
his  sorrow  and  his  impatience.  Eager  to  know  and  to 
prevent  the  treachery — unseen  by  Jesus,  whose  back  was 
turned  to  him  as  He  reclined  at  the  meal — he  made  a 
signal  to  John  to  ask  "who  it  was."  The  head  of  John 
was  close  to  Jesus,  and  laying  it  with  affectionate  trustful- 


THE  LAST  SUPPER.  431 

ness  on  his  Master's  breast,  he  said  in  a  whisper,   "  Lord, 
who  is  it?"     The  reply,   given  in  a  tone  equally  low,  was 
heard  by  St.  John  alone,    and  confirmed   the  suspicions 
with  which  it  is  evident  that  the  repellent  nature  of  Judas 
had   already   inspired    him.     At  Eastern    meals    all    the 
guests  eat  with  their  fingers  out  of  a  common  dish,  and  it 
is  common  for  one  at  times  to  dip  into  the  dish  a  piece  of 
the  thin  flexible  cake  of  bread  which  is  placed  by  each, 
and  taking  up  with  it  a  portion  of  the  meat  or  rice  in  the 
dish,  to  hand  it  to  another  guest.    So  ordinary  an  incident 
of  any  daily  meal  would  attract  no  notice  whatever.    Jesus 
handed  to  the  traitor  Apostle  a  "sop  "  of  this  kind,  and 
this,  as  He  told  St.  John,  was  the  sign  which  should  in- 
dicate to  him,   and  possibly   through   him    to  St.  Peter, 
which  was  the  guilty  member  of    the  little  band.     And 
then  He  added  aloud,  in   words  which  can  have  but  one 
significance,   in   words  the  most  awful  and  crushing  that 
ever  passed  His  lips,   "The  Son  of  Man  goeth  indeed,  as 
it  is  written  of  Him  :  but  woe  unto  that  man  by  whom  the 
Son  of  Man  is  betrayed  !     It  were  good  for  that  man  if  he 
had  not  been  born'!"     "Words,"  it  has  been  well  said, 
"  of  immeasurable  ruin,  words  of  immeasurable  woe  " — 
and  the  more  terrible  because  uttered  by  the  lips  of  im- 
measurable Love  :  words  capable,  if  any  were  capable,  of 
revealing  to  the  lost  soul  of  the  traitor  all  the  black  gulf 
of  horror  that  was  yawning  before  his  feet.    He  must  have 
known  something  of  what  had  passed  ;  he  may  well  have 
overheard   some  fragment  of  the  conversation,  or  at  least 
have  had  a  dim  consciousness  that  in  some  way  it  referred 
to   him.     He  may  even  have  been  aware  that  when  his 
hand  met  the  hand  of  Jesus  over  the  dish  there  was  some 
meaning  in  the  action.    When  the  others  were  questioning 
among  themselves  "  which  was  the  traitor?"  he  had  re- 
mained silent  in  the  defiant  hardness  of  contempt  or  the 
sullen   gloom  of  guilt ;  but  now — stung,    it   may   be,  by 
some   sense   of  the    shuddering   horror   with    which    the 
mere  possibility  of  his  guilt  was  regarded — he  nerved  him- 
self for   the   shameful  "and  shameless  question.     After  all 
the    rest   had   sunk  into  silence,  there    grated    upon    the 
Saviour's   ear   that  hoarse  untimely   Avhisper,    in    all   the 
bitterness  of  its  defiant  mockery — not  asking,  as  the  rest 
had  asked,  in  loving  revere:ice,   ''Lord,  is  it  I?"  but  with 


432  TBE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  cold  formal  title,  "  J?aMi,  is  it  I?"  Then  that  low 
unrcproachful  answer,  "  Thou  hast  said,"  sealed  his 
guilt.  The  rest  did  not  hear  it ;  it  was  probably  caught 
by  Peter  and  John  alone  ;  and  Judas  ate  the  soj^  which 
Jesus  had  given  him,  and  after  the  sop  Satan  entered  into 
him.  As  all  the  winds,  on  some  night  of  storm,  riot  and 
howl  through  the  rent  walls  of  some  desecrated  shrine,  so 
through  the  ruined  life  of  Judas  envy  and  avarice,  and 
hatred  and  ingratitude,  were  rushing  all  at  once.  In  that 
bewildering  chaos  of  a  soul  spotted  with  mortal  guilt,  the 
Satanic  had  triumphed  over  the  human  ;  in  that  dark 
heiirt  earth  and  hell  were  thenceforth  at  one  ;  in  that  lost 
soul  sin  had  conceived  and  brought  forth  death.  "  What 
thou  art  doing,  do  more  quickly,"  said  Jesus  to  him 
aloud.  He  knew  what  the  words  implied,  he  knew  what 
they  meant,  "Thy  fell  purpose  is  matured,  carry  it  out 
with  no  more  of  these  futile  hypocrisies  and  meaningless 
delays."  Judas  rose  from  the  feast.  The  innocent- 
hearted  Apostles  thought  that  Jesus  had  bidden  him  go 
out  and  make  purchases  for  to-morrow's  Passover,  or  give 
something  out  of  the  common  store  which  should  enable 
the  poor  to  buy  their  Paschal  lamb.  And  so  from  the 
lighted  room,  from  the  holy  banquet,  from  the  blessed 
company,  from  the  presence  of  his  Lord,  he  went  imme- 
diately out,  and — as  the  beloved  disciple  adds,  with  a 
shudder  of  dread  significance  letting  the  curtain  of  dark- 
ness fall  forever  on  that  appalling  figure — "  and  it  was 
oiiglit." 

We  cannot  tell  with  any  certainty  whether  this  took 
place  before  or  after  the  institution  of  the  Lord's  Supper 
— whether  Judas  partook  or  not  of  those  hallowed 
symbols.  Nor  can  we  tell  whether  at  all,  or,  if  at  all,  to 
what  extent,  our  Lord  conformed  the  minor  details  of  His 
last  supper  to  the  half-joyous,  half-mournful  customs  of 
the  Paschal  feast ;  nor,  again,  can  we  tell  how  far  the  cus- 
toms of  the  Passover  in  that  day  resembled  those  detailed 
io  us  in  the  Rabbinic  writings.  Nothing  could  have  been 
simpler  than  the  ancient  method  of  their  commemorating 
their  deliverance  from  Egypt  and  from  the  destroying  angel. 
The  central  custom  of  the  feast  was  the  hasty  eating  of  the 
Paschal  lamb,  with  unleavened  bread  and  bitter  herbs,  in 
a  standing  attitude,   with    loins   girt   and    shoes  upon  the 


THE  LAST  SUPPER.  433 

feet,  as  they  had  eaten  hastily  on  the  night  of  their  deliver- 
ance. In  this  way  the  Passover  is  still  yearly  eaten  by  the 
Samaritans  at  the  summit  of  Gerizim,  and  there  to  this 
day  they  will  hand  to  the  stranger  the  little  olive-shaped 
morsel  of  unleavened  bred,  inclosing  a  green  fragment  of 
wild  endive  or  some  other  bitter  herb,  which  may  perhaps 
resemble,  except  that  is  not  dipped  in  the  dish,  the  very 
tpGo/uiov  which  Judas  received  at  the  hands  of  Christ. 
But  even  if  the  Last  Supper  was  a  Passover,  we  are  told 
that  the  Jews  had  long  ceased  to  eat  it  standing,  or  to  ob- 
serve the  rule  which  forbade  any  guest  to  leave  the  house 
till  morning.  They  made,  in  fact,  many  radical  distinctions 
between  the  Egyptian  and  the  permanent  Pass  Dver  which 
was  subsequently  observed.  The  latter  meal  began  by  fill- 
ing each  guest  a  cup  of  wine,  over  which  the  head  of  the 
family  pronounced  a  benediction.  After  this  the  hands 
were  washed  in  a  basin  of  water,  and  a  table  was  brought 
in,  on  which  were  placed  the  bitter  herbs,  the  unleavened 
bread,  the  cliaroseili  (a  dish  made  of  dates,  raisins,  and 
vinegar),  the  Paschal  lamb,  and  the  flesh  of  the  cliagigah. 
The  father  dipped  a  piece  of  herb  in  the  cliaroseth,  ate  it, 
with  a  benediction,  and  distributed  a  similar  morsel  to  all. 
A  second  cup  of  wine  was  then  poured  out ;  the  youngest 
present  inquired  the  meaning  of  the  Paschal  night ;  the 
father  replied  with  a  full  account  of  the  observance  ; 
the  first  part  of  the  Hallel  (Ps.  cvii. — cxiv.)  was  then 
sung,  a  blessing  repeated,  a  third  cup  of  wine  was  drunk, 
grace  was  said,  a  fourth  cup  poured  out,  the  rest  of  the 
Hallel  (Ps.  cxv. — cxviii.)  sung,  and  the  ceremony  ended 
by  the  blessing  of  the  song.  Some,  no  doubt,  of  the  facts 
mentioned  at  the  Last  Supper  may  be  brought  into  com- 
parison with  parts  of  this  ceremony.  It  appears,  for  in- 
stance, that  the  supper  began  with  a  benediction,  aiid  the 
passing  of  a  cup  of  wine,  which  Jesus  bade  tliem  divide 
among  themselves,  saying  that  he  would  not  drink  of  the 
fruit  of  the  vine  until  the  kingdom  of  God  should  come. 
The  other  cup — passed  around  after  supper — has  been 
identified  by  some  with  the  third  cup,  the  Cos  ha-herdcliah 
or  '*cup  of  blessing"  of  the  Jewish  ceremonial  (1  Cor.  x. 
16);  and  the  hymn  which  was  sung  before  the  departure 
of  the  little  company  to  (Jethsemane  has,  with  much 
probability,  been  supposed  to  be  the  second  part  of  the 
great  Hallel. 


434  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  relation  of  these  incidents  of  the  meal  to  the  vari- 
ous Paschal  observances  which  we  have  detailed  is,  how- 
ever, doubtful.  What  is  not  doubtful,  and  what  has  the 
deepest  interest  for  all  Cln-istians,  is  the  establishment  at 
this  last  supper  of  the  Sacrament  of  the  Eucharist.  Of 
this  we  have  no  fewer  than  four  accounts — the  brief  descrip- 
tion of  St.  Paul  agreeing  in  almost  verbal  exactness  with 
those  of  the  Synoptists.  In  each  account  we  clearly  recog- 
nize the  main  facts  which  St.  Paul  expressly  tells  us  that  "he 
had  received  of  the  Lord" — viz.,  "that  the  Lord  Jesus, 
on  the  same  night  in  which  He  was  betrayed,  took  bread  ; 
and  when  He  had  given  thanks.  He  brake  it,  and  said. 
Take,  eat ;  this  is  my  body  which  is  broken  for  you  ;  this 
do  in  remembrance  of  me.  After  the  same  manner  also 
He  took  the  cup  when  He  had  supped,  saying,  This  cup  is 
the  New  Testament  in  my  blood  ;  this  do  ye,  as  oft  as  ye 
drink  it,  in  remembrance  of  me"  (1  Cor.  xi.  23-25). 
Never  since  that  memorable  evening  has  the  Church  ceased 
to  observe  the  commandment  of  her  Lord  ;  ever  since  that 
day,  from  age  to  age,  has  this  blessed  and  holy  Sacrament 
been  a  memorial  of  the  death  of  Christ,  and  a  strengthen- 
ing and  refreshing  of  the  soul  by  the  body  and  blood,  as 
the  body  is  refreshed  and  strengthened  by  the  bread  and 
wine. 


CHAPTER  LVL 

THE   LAST   DISCOURSE. 

No  sooner  had  Judas  left  the  i*oom,  than,  as  though 
they  had  been  relieved  of  some  ghastly  incubus,  the  spirits 
of  the  little  company  revived.  The  presence  of  that 
haunted  soul  lay  with  a  weight  of  horror  on  the  heart 
of  his  Master,  and  no  sooner  liad  he  departed  than  the  sad- 
ness of  the  feast  seems  to  have  been  sensibly  relieved.  The 
solemn  exultation  which  dilated  the  soul  of  their  Lord 
—  that  joy  like  the  sense  of  a  boundless  sunliglit  be- 
hind the  earth-born  mists  —  communicated  itself  to 
the  spirits  of  His  followers.  The  dull  clouds  caught  the 
sunset  coloring.  In  sweet  and  tender  communion,  per- 
haps two  hours  glided  away  at  thut  quiet  banquet.     Now 


THE  LAST  D TSCO UR8E.  435 

it  was  that,  conscious  of  the  impending  separation,  and 
fixed  unalterably  in  His  sublime  resolve.  He  oi)ened  His 
heart  to  the  little  band  of  those  who  loved  Hira,  and  spoke 
among  them  those  f .ire well  discoui'ses  preserved  for  us  by 
St.  John  alone,  so  ''  rarely  mixed  of  sa'liiess  and  joys,  and 
studded  with  mysteries  as  with  emeralds. ''  "  Now,"  He 
said,  as  though  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  now  is  the  Son  of 
Man  glorified,  and  Clod  is  glorified  in  Him."  The  hour  of 
that  glorification  —  tlie  glorification  which  was  to  be  won 
through  the  path  of  humility  and  agony  —  was  at  hand. 
The  time  which  remained  for  Him  to  be  with  them  was 
short ;  as  He  hnd  said  to  the  Jews,  so  now  he  said  to  them, 
that  whither  He  was  going  they  could  not  come.  And 
in  telling  them  this,  for  the  first  and  last  time.  He  calls 
them  "little  children."  In  that  company  were  Peter  and 
John,  men  whose  words  and  deeds  should  thenceforth 
influence  the  whole  world  of  man  until  the  end  —  men 
who  should  become  the  patron  saints  of  nations — in  whose 
honor  cathedrals  should  be  built,  and  from  whom  cities 
should  be  named  ;  but  their  greatness  was  but  a  dim  faint 
reflection  from  His  risen  glory,  and  a  gleam  caught  from 
that  spirit  which  He  Avould  send.  Apart  from  Him  they 
were  nothing,  and  less  than  nothing — ignorant  Galiisean 
fishermen,  unknown  and  unheard  of  beyond  their  native 
village — having  no  intellect  and  no  knowledge  save  that 
He  had  thus  regarded  them  as  His  "  little  children."  And 
though  they  could  not  follow  Him  whither  He  went,  yet 
He  did  not  say  to  them,  as  He  had  said  to  the  Jews 
(John  vii.  34  ;  viii.  21),  that  they  should  seek  Him  and 
not  find  Him.  Nay,  more.  He  gave  them  a  new  com- 
mandment, by  which,  walking  in  His  steps,  and  being 
known  by  all  men  as  His  disciples,  they  should  find  Him 
soon.  That  new  commandment  was  that  they  should  love 
one  another.  In  one  sense,  indeed,  it  was  not  new. 
Even  in  the  law  of  Moses  (Lev.  xix.  J8),  not  only  had 
there  been  room  for  the  precept,  ''Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself,"  but  that  precept  had  even  been 
regarded  by  wise  Jewisli  teachers  as  cardinal  and  inclusive 
— as  ''the  royal  law  accordinaf  to  the  Scripture,"  as  "the 
message  from  the  beginning  "  (James  ii.  8  ;  1  John  iii.  11). 
And  yet,  as  St.  John  points  out  in  his  Epistle,  though  in 
one  sense  old,  it  was,  in  another,  whollv  new — new  in  the 


436  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

new  prominence  given  to  it — new  in  the  new  motives  by 
which  it  was  enforced — new  because  of  the  new  example 
by  which  it  was  recommended — new  from  the  new 
influence  which  it  was  henceforth  destined  to  exercise.  It 
was  Love,  as  the  test  and  condition  of  discipleship,  Love 
as  greater  than  even  Faith  and  Hope,  Love  as  the  fulfilling 
of  the  Law. 

At  this  point  St.  Peter  interposed  a  question.  Before 
Jesus  entered  on  a  new  topic,  he  wished  for  an  explanation 
of  something  which  he  had  not  understood.  Why  was 
this  farewell  aspect  about  the  Lord's  discourse?  "  Lord, 
whither  goest  thou?  " 

"  Whitiier  I  go  tliou  canst  not  follow  me  now,  but  thou 
shalt  follow  me  afterwards." 

Peter  now  understood  that  death  was  meant,  but  why 
could  he  not  also  die?  was  he  not  as  ready  as  Thomas  to 
say  (John  xi.  16),  "  Let  us  also  go  that  we  may  die  with 
Him?"  "Lord,  why  cannot  I  follow  thee  now?  I  will 
lay  down  my  life  for  thy  sake." 

Why?  Our  Lord  might  have  answered,  Because  the 
heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things;  because  thy  want  of 
deep  humility  deceives  thee  ;  because  it  is  hidden,  even 
from  thyself,  how  much  there  still  is  of  cowardice  and  self- 
seeking  in  thy  motives.  But  He  would  not  deal  thus  with 
the  noble-hearted  but  weak  and  impetuous  Apostle,  whose 
love  was  perfectly  sincere,  though  it  did  not  stand  the 
test.  He  spares  him  all  reproach  ;  only  very  gently  He 
repeats  the  question,  "  Wilt  thou  lay  down  thy  life  for  my 
sake?  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee,  The  cock  shall  not 
crow  till  thou  hast  denied  me  thrice  I "  Already  it  was 
night;  ere  the  dawn  of  that  fatal  morning  shuddered  in 
the  eastern  sky — before  the  cock  crow,  uttered  in  the  deep 
darkness,  prophesied  that  the  dawn  was  near — Jesus 
would  have  begun  to  lay  down  His  life  for  Peter  and  for 
all  who  sin;  but  already  by  that  time  Peter,  unmindful 
even  of  this  warning,  should  have  thrice  repudiated  his 
Lord  and  Saviour,  thrice  have  rejected  as  a  calumny  Jind 
an  insult  the  mere  imputation  that  he  even  knew  Him. 
All  that  Jesus  could  do  to  save  him  from  the  agony  of  this 
moral  humiliation  —  by  admonition,  by  tenderness,  by 
prayer  to  His  Heavenly  Father — He  had  done.  He  had 
prayed   for   him    that    his  faith    might   not    finally   fail. 


THE  LA  ST  DISCO  UBSE.  437 

Satan  indeed  had  obtained  permission  to  sift  them  all  as 
wheat,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  self-oonfldence,  in  spite  of  all 
his  protested  devotion,  in  spite  of  all  his  imaginary- 
sincerity,  he  should  be  but  as  the  chalf.  It  is  remarkable 
that  in' the  parallel  passage  of  St.  Luke  occurs  the  only 
instance  recorded  in  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  having 
addressed  Simon-  by  that  name  of  Peter  which  he  had 
Himself  bestowed.  It  is  as  though  He  meant  to  remind 
the  Man  of  Rock  that  his  strength  lay,  not  in  himself,  but 
in  that  good  confession  which  he  once  had  uttered.  And 
yet  Christ  held  out  to  him  a  gracious  hope.  He  should 
repent  and  return  to  the  Lord  whom  he  should  deny,  and, 
when  that  day  should  come,  Jesus  bade  him  show  that 
truest  and  most  acceptable  proof  of  penitence — the 
strengthening  of  others.  And  if  his  fall  gave  only  too 
terrible  a  significance  to  his  Saviour's  warnings,  yet  his 
repentance  nobly  fulfilled  those  consolatory  prophecies ; 
and  it  is  most  interesting  to  find  that  the  very  word  which 
Jesus  had  used  to  him  recurs  in  his  Epistle  in  a  connection 
which  shows  how  deeply  it  had  sunk  into  his  soul. 

But  Jesus  wished  His  Apostles  to  feel  tliat  the  time  was 
come  when  all  was  to  be  very  different  from  the  old  spring- 
tide of  their  happy  mission  days  in  Galilee.  Then  He  had 
sent  them  forth  without  purse  or  scrip  or  sandals,  and  yet 
they  had  lacked  nothing.  But  the  purse  and  the  scrip  were 
needful  now — even  the  sword  might  become  a  fatal  neces- 
sity— and  therefore  "  he  that  hath  no  sword  let  him  sell 
his  garment  and  buy  one."  The  very  tone  of  the  expres- 
sion showed  that  it  was  not  to  be  taken  in  strict  literalness. 
It  was  our  Lord's  custom — because  His  words,  which  were 
spoken  for  all  time,  were  intended  to  be  fixed  as  goads  and 
as  nails  in  a  sure  place — to  clothe  His  moral  teachings  in 
the  form  of  vivid  metaphor  and  searching  paradox.  It  was 
His  object  now  to  warn  tliem  of  a  changed  condition,  in 
which  they  must  expect  hatred,  neglect,  opposition,  and 
in  which  even  self-defence  might  become  a  paramount 
duty;  but,  as  though  to  warn  them  clearly  that  He  did  not 
mean  any  immediate  effort — as  thougli  beforeliaud  to  dis- 
courage any  blow  struck  in  defense  of  that  life  which  He 
willingly  resigned — He  added  that  the  end  was  near,  and 
that  in  accordance  witli  the  olden  pro))he(;y  He  should  be 
numbered   with    the   trangressors.      But,    as    usual,    the 


438  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Apostles  carelessly  and  ignorantly  mistook  His  words, 
seeing  in  them  no  spiritual  lesson,  bnt  only  the  barest  and 
baldest  literal  meaning.  "  Lord,  behold  here  are  two 
swords,"  was  their  almost  childish  comment  on  His  words. 
Two  swords!  as  though  that  were  enough  to  defend  from 
physical  violence  His  sacred  life  I  as  though  that  were  an 
adequate  provision  for  Him  who,  at  a  word,  might  have 
commanded  more  than  twelve  legions  of  angels!  as  though 
such  feeble  might,  wielded  by  such  feeble  hands,  could 
save  Him  from  the  banded  hate  of  a  nation  of  His  enemies! 
"It  is  enough,"  he  sadly  said.  It  was  not  needful  to 
pursue  the  subject;  the  subsequent  lesson  in  Gethsemane 
would  unteach  them  their  weak  misapprehensions  of  His 
words.  He  dropped  the  subject,  and  waving  aside  their 
proffered  swords,  proceeded  to  that  tenderer  task  of  consola- 
tion, about  whicli  He  had  so  many  things  to  say. 

He  bade  them  not  be  troubled;  they  believed,  and  their 
faith  should  find  its  fruition.  He  was  but  leaving  them  to 
prepare  for  them  a  home  in  the  many  mansions  of  His 
Father's  house.  Tliey  knew  whither  He  was  going,  and 
they  knew  the  way. 

'*  Lord,  we  know  not  whither  thou  goest,  and  how  can 
we  know  the  way?"  is  the  perplexed  answer  of  the  melan- 
choly Thomas. 

"I  am  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life,"  answered 
Jesus;  "no  man  cometh  unto  the  Father  but  by  me.  If 
ye  had  known  me,  ye  sliould  have  known  my  Father  also; 
and  from  henceforth  ye  know  Him,  and  have  seen  Him." 

Again  came  one  of  tiiose  naive  interruptions — so  faith- 
fully and  vividly  recorded  by  the  Evangelist — which  yet 
reveal  such  a  deptli  of  incapacity  to  understand,  so  pro- 
found a  spiritual  ignoi-ance  after  so  long  a  course  of  divine 
training.  And  we  may  well  be  thankful  that  the  sim- 
plicity and  ignorance  of  these  Apostles  is  thus  fi'ankly  and 
humbly  recorded;  for  nothing  can  more  powerfully  tend  to 
prove  the  utter  change  which  must  have  passed  over  their 
spirits,  before  men  so  timid,  so  carnal,  so  Judaic,  so  unen- 
lightened, could  be  transformed  into  the  Apostles  whose 
worth  we  know,  and  who — inspired  by  the  facts  which  they 
had  seen,  and  by  the  Holy  .Spirit  who  gave  them  wisdom 
and  utterance — became,  before  their  short  livt^s  were  ended 
by  violence,  the  mightiest  teachers  of  the  world. 


THE  LAST  DISCO  UES&  439 

"Lord,  show  us  the  Father/'  said  Philip  of  Bethsaida, 
"and  it  sufficeth  us!" 

Show  us  the  Father !  what  then  did  Philip  expect? 
Some  earth-shaking  epiphany?  Some  blinding  splendor  in 
the  heavens?  Had  he  not  yet  learned  that  He  who  is  in- 
visible cannot  be  seen  by  mortal  eyes  ;  that  the  finite 
cannot  attain  to  the  vision  of  the  Infinite  ;  that  they  who 
would  see  God  must  see  no  manner  of  similitudes  ;  that 
His  awful  silence  can  only  be  broken  to  us  through  the 
medium  of  human  voices.  His  being  only  comprehended 
by  means  of  the  things  that  He  hath  made?  And  had  he 
w'^holly  failed  to  discover  that  for  these  three  years  he  had 
been  walking  with  God?  that  neither  he,  nor  any  other 
mortal  man  could  ever  know  more  of  God  in  this  world 
than  that  which  should  be  revealed  of  Him  by  "  the  only- 
begotten  Son  which  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father?" 

Again  there  was  no  toucli  of  anger,  only  a  slight  accent 
of  pained  surprise  in  the  quiet  answer,  "Have  I  been  so 
long  with  you,  and  yet  hast  thou  not  known  me,  Philip? 
He  that  hath  seen  "me  hath  seen  the  Father,  and  how 
sayest  thou  then.  Show  us  the  Father?" 

And  then  appealing  to  His  words  and  to  His  works  as 
only  possible  by  the  indwelling  of  His  Father,  He  proceeded 
to  unfold  to  them  the  coming  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  how 
that  Comforter  dwelling  in  them  should  make  them  one 
witli  the  Father  and  with  Him. 

But  at  this  point  Judas  Lebbasus  had  a  difficulty.  He 
had  not  understood  that  the  eye  can  o)ily  see  that  which 
it  possesses  the  inherent  power  of  seeing.  He  could  not 
grasp  the  fact  that  God  can  become  visible  to  those  alone 
tlie  eyes  of  whose  understanding  are  open  so  that  they 
can  discern  spiritual  things.  "  Lord,  how  isit,"  he  asked, 
"  that  thou  wilt  manifest  thyself  unto  us,  and  not  to  the 
world  ?" 

The  difficulty  was  exactly  of  the  same  kind  as  Philip's 
had  been  —  the  total  inability  to  distinguish  between  a 
physical  and  a  spiritual  manifestation  ;  and  without 
formally  removing  it,  Jesus  gave  them  all,  once  more,  the 
true  clew  to  the  comprehension  of  His  words  —  that  God 
lives  with  them  that  love  Him,  and  that  the  proof  of  love 
is  obedience.  For  all  fuitlier  teaching  He  referred  them 
to  the  Comforter  whom  Fie  was  about  to  send,  who  should 


440  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

bring  all  things  to  their  remembrance.  And  now  He 
breathes  upon  them  llis  blessing  of  peace,  meaning  to 
add  but  little  more,  because  His  conflict  with  the  prince 
of  this  world  should  now  begin. 

At  this  point  of  the  discourse  there  was  a  movement 
among  the  little  company.  "Arise,"  said  Jesus,  "let  us 
go  hence." 

They  rose  from  the  table,  and  united  their  voices'in  a  hymn 
which  may  well  have  been  a  portion  of  the  great  Hallel, 
and  not  improbably  the  llCth,  117th  and  118th  Psalms. 
Wliat  an  impei'ishable  interest  do  these  Psalms  derive  from 
such  an  association,  and  how  full  of  meaning  must  many 
of  the  verses  have  been  to  some  of  them  !  With  what 
intensity  of  feeling  must  they  have  joined  in  singing  such 
words  as  these — '*  The  sorrows  of  death  compassed  me, 
the  pains  of  hell  gat  hold  upon  me  ;  I  fouiid  trouble  and 
sorrow.  Then  called  I  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord ;  0  Lord, 
I  beseech  thee,  deliver  my  soul;"  or  again,  "  What  shall  I 
render  unto  the  Lord  for  all  His  benefits  toward  me  ?  I 
will  take  the  cup  of  salvation,  and  call  upon  the  name  of  the 
Lord;"  or  once  again,  "Thou  hast  thrust  sore  at  me  that 
I  might  fall:  but  the  Lord  helped  me.  The  Lord  is  my 
strength  and  my  song,  and  is  become  my  salvation.  The 
stone  which  the  builders  refused  is  become  the  head-stone 
of  the  corner.  This  is  the  Lord's  doing ;  it  is  marvelous 
in  our  eyes." 

Before  they  started  for  their  moonlight  walk  to  the 
Garden  of  Gethsemane,  perhaps  while  yet  they  stood 
,around  their  Lord  when  the  Hallel  was  over,  He  once 
more  spoke  to  them.  First  He  told  them  of  the  need  of 
closest  union  with  Him,  if  they  would  bring  forth  fruit, 
and  be  saved  from  destruction.  He  clothed  this  lesson 
in  the  allegory  of  "  the  Vine  and  the  Branches."  There 
is  no  need  to  find  any  immediate  circumstance  which  sug- 
gested the  metaphor,  beyond  the  "fruit  of  the  vine"  of 
which  they  had  been  partaking:  but  if  any  were  required,  we 
might  suppose  that,  as  He  looked  out  into  the  night.  He  saw 
the  moonlight  silvering  the  leaves  of  a  vine  which  clustered 
round  the  latticed  window,  or  falling  on  the  colossal  golden 
vine  which  wreathed  one  of  the  Temple  gates.  But  after 
impressing  this  truth  in  the  vivid  form  of  parable,  He 
showed  them  how  deep  a  source  of  joy  it  would  be  to  them  in 


THE  LAST  DISCOURSE.  441 

the  persecutions  which  awaited  tliem  from  an  angry  world; 
and  then  in  fuller,  plainer,  deeper  language  than  He  had 
ever  used  before,  He  told  them,  that,  in  spite  of  all  the 
anguish  with  which  they  contemplated  the  coming  separa- 
tion from  Him,  it  was  actually  better  for  them  that  His 
personal  presence  should  be  withdrawn  in  order  that  His 
spiritual  presence  might  be  yet  nearer  to  them  tlian  it  ever 
had  been  before.  This  would  be  effected  by  the  coming  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  when  he  who  was  now  with  them  should 
be  ever  in  them.  The  mission  of  that  Comforter  should 
be  to  convince  the  world  of  sin,  of  righteousness,  and  of 
judgment;  and  He  sliould  guide  them  into  all  truth,  and 
show  them  things  to  come.  "  He  shall  glorify  me  ;  for 
He  shall  receive  of  mine,  and  show  it  unto  you."  And 
now  He  was  going  to  His  Father  :  a  little  while,  and  they 
should  not  see  Him. 

The  uncertainty  as  to  what  He  meant  carried  the  dis- 
ciples once  more  to  questions  among  themselves  during 
one  of  the  solemn  pauses  of  His  discourse.  They  would 
gladly  have  asked  Him,  but  a  deep  awe  was  upon  their 
spirits,  and  they  did  not  dare.  Already  they  had  several 
times  broken  the  current  of  His  thoughts  by  questions 
which,  though  He  did  not  reprove  them,  had  evidently 
grieved  Him  by  their  emptiness,  and  by  the  misapprehen- 
sion which  they  showed  of  all  that  He  sought  to  impress 
upon  them.  So  their  whispered  questioning  died  away 
into  silence,  but  their  Master  kindly  came  to  their  relief. 
This,  He  told  them,  was  to  be  their  brief  hour  of  anguish, 
but  it  was  to  be  followed  by  a  joy  of  which  man  could  not 
rob  them  ;  and  to  that  joy  there  need  be  no  limit,  for 
whatever  might  be  their  need  they  had  but  to  ask  the 
Father,  and  it  should  be  fulfilled.  To  that  Father  who 
Himself  loved  them,  for  their  belief  in  Him  —  to  that 
Father,  fi'om  whom  He  came.  He  was  now  about  to 
return. 

The  disciples  were  deeply  grateful  for  these  plain  and 
most  consoling  words.  Once  more  they  were  unanimous  in 
(ixpressing  their  belief  that  He  came  forth  from  God.  But 
Jesus  sadly  checked  their  enthusiasm.  His  words  had  been 
nujant  to  give  them  peace  in  the  present,  and  courage  and 
hope  for  the  future;  yet  He  knew  and  told  them  that,  in 
ispite  of  all  that  they  said,  the  hour  was  now  close  at  hand 


442  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

wlien  tliey  should  all  be  scattered  in  selfish  terror,  and  leave 
Him  alone — yet  not  alone,  because  the  Father  was  with 
Him. 

And  after  these  words  He  lifted  up  His  eyes  to  heaven, 
and  uttered  His  great  High-priestly  prayer  :  first,  that  His 
Father  would  iuvest  His  voluntary  humanity  with  the 
eternal  glory  of  which  He  had  emptied  Himself  when  He 
took  the  form  of  a  servant;  next,  that  He  would  keep 
tlirough  His  own  name  these  His  loved  ones  who  had  walked 
with  Him  in  the  world;  and  then  tliat  He  would  sanctify 
and  make  perfect  not  these  alone,  but  all  the  myriads, 
all  the  long  generations,  which  should  hereafter  believe 
through  their  word. 

A.nd  when  the  tones  of  this  divine  prayer  were  hushed, 
they  left  tlie  guest  chamber  and  stepped  into  the  moon- 
lit silence  of  the  Oriental  night. 


CHAPTER    LVII. 

GETHSEMANE — THE   AGOI^^Y   AND   THE   AREEST. 

Their  way  led  them  through  one  of  the  city  gates  — 
probably  that  which  then  corresponded  to  the  present  gate  of 
St.  Stephen — down  the  steep  sides  of  the  ravine,  across  the 
wady  of  the  Kedrou,  which  lay  a  hundred  feet  below,  and 
up  the  green  and  quiet  slope  beyond  it.  To  one  who  has 
visited  the  scene  at  that  very  season  of  the  year  and  at  that 
very  hour  of  the  night — who  has  felt  the  solemn  hush  of 
the  silence  even  at  this  short  distance  from  the  city  wall — 
who  has  seen  the  deep  shadows  flung  by  the  great  boles  of 
the  ancient  olive-trees,  and  the  checkering  of  light  that  falls 
on  the  sward  through  their  moonlight-silvered  leaves,  it  is 
more  easy  to  realize  the  awe  which  crept  over  those  few 
Galilaeans,  as  in  almost  unbroken  silence,  with  something 
perhaps  of  secrecy,  and  with  a  weight  of  mysterious  dread 
brooding  over  their  spirits,  they  followed  Him,  who  with 
bowed  head  and  sorrowing  heart  walked  before  them  to 
His  willing  doom. 

We  are  told  but  of  one  incident  in  that  last  and  memo- 
rable walk  through  the  midnight  to  the  familiar  Garden  of 
Gethsemaue.     It    was  a  last  warning  to  the  disciples   in 


GETHSEMANE.  443 

general,  to  St.  Peter  in  iDarticukr.  It  may  be  that  the 
dimness,  the  silence,  the  desertion  of  their  position,  the 
dull  echo  of  their  footsteps,  the  stealthy  aspect  which  their 
movements  wore, the  agonizing  sense  that  treachery  was  even 
now  at  work,  was  beginning  already  to  produce  an  icy  chill 
of  cowardice  in  their  hearts;  sadly  did  Jesus  turn  and  say 
to  them  that  on  that  very  night  they  should  all  be  offended 
in  Him — all  find  their  connection  with  Him  a  stumbling- 
block  in  their  path — and  the  old  prophecy  should  be  ful- 
filled, ''  I  will  smite  the  shepherd,  and  the  sheep  shall  be 
scattered  abroad."  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  as  a  shepherd 
would  He  go  before  them,  leading  the  way  to  Galilee. 
They  all  repudiated  the  possibility  of  such  an  abandon- 
ment of  their  Lord,  and  Peter,  touched  already  by  this 
apparent  distrust  of  his  stability,  haunted,  perhaps,  by 
some  dread  lest  Jesus  felt  any  doubt  oildni,  was  loudest 
and  most  emphatic  in  his  denial.  Even  if  all  should  be-of- 
f ended,  yet  never  would  he  be  offended.  Was  it  a  secret 
misgiving  in  his  own  heart  which  made  his  asseveration  so 
prominent  and  so  strong?  Not  even  the  repetition  of  the 
former  warning,  that,  ere  the  cock  should  crow,  he  would 
thrice  have  denied  his  Lord,  could  shake  him  from  his 
positive  assertion  that  even  the  necessity  of  death,  itself 
should  never  drive  him  to  such  a  sin.  And  Jesus  only 
listened  in  mournful  silence  to  vows  which  should  so  soon 
be  scattered  into  air. 

So  they  came  to  Gethsemane,  which  is  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  city  walls.  It  M-as  a  garden  or  orchard  marked 
probably  by  some  slight  inclosure;  and  as  it  had  been  a 
place  of  frequent  resort  for  Jesus  and  His  followers,  we 
may  assume  that  it  belonged  to  some  friendly  owner.  The 
name  Gethsemane  means  *'  the  oil  press,"  and  doubtless  it 
was  so  called  from  a  press  to  crush  the  olives  yielded  by 
the  countless  trees  from  which  the  hill  derives  its  designa- 
tion. Any  one  who  has  rested  at  noonday  in  the  gardens 
of  En-gannim  or  Nazareth  in  spring,  and  can  recall  the 
pleasant  shade  yielded  by  the  interlaced  branches  of  olive 
and  pomegranate,  and  fig  and  myrtle,  may  easily  imagine 
what  kind  of  spot  it  was.  The  traditional  site,  venerable 
and  beautiful  as  it  is  from  the  age  and  size  of  the  gray, 
gnarled  olive-trees,  of  which  one  is  still  known  as  the 
Tree  of  the  Agony,   is,   i)erliaps,  too  i)ublic — being,  as  it 


444  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

always  must  have  been,  at  the  angle  formed  by  the  two 
paths  which  lead  over  the  summit  and  shoulder  of  Olivet — 
to  be  regarded  as  the  actual  spot.  It  was  more  probably 
one  of  the  secluded  hollows  at  no  great  distance  from  it 
which  witnessed  that  scene  of  awful  and  pathetic  mystery. 
But  although  the  exact  spot  cannot  be  determined  with 
certainty,  the  general  position  of  Gethsemane  is  clear,  and 
then  as  now  the  checkering  moonlight,  the  gray  leaves,  the 
dark  brown  trunks,  the  soft  greensward,  the  ravine  with 
Olivet  towering  over  it  to  the  eastward  and  Jerusalem 
to  the  west,  must  have  been  the  main  external  features 
of  a  place  which  must  be  regarded  with  undying  interest 
while  Time  shall  be,  as  the  place  where  the  Saviour  of 
mankind  entered  alone  into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

Jesus  knew  that  the  awful  hour  of  His  deepest  humilia- 
tion had  arrived — that  from  this  moment  till  the  utterance 
of.  that  great  cry  with  which  He  expired,  nothing  re- 
mained for  Him  on  earth  but  the  torture  of  physical  j^ain 
and  the  poignancy  of  mental  anguish.  All  that  the  human 
frame  can  tolerate  of  suffering  was  to  be  heaped  upon  His 
shrinking  body;  every  misery  tliat  cruel  and  crushing  insult 
can  inflict  was  to  weigh  heavy  on  His  soul:  and  in  this  tor- 
ment of  body  and  agony  of  soul  even  the  high  and  radiant 
serenity  of  His  divine  spirit  was  to  suffer  a  short  but  ter- 
rible eclipse.  Pain  in  its  acutest  sting,  shame  in  its  most 
overwhelming  brutality,  all  the  burden  of  the  sin  and 
mystery  of  man's  existence  in  its  apostasy  and  fall— this 
•was  what  He  must  now  face  in  all  its  most  inexplicable 
accumulation.  But  one  thing  remained  before  the  actual 
struggle,  the  veritable  agony,  began.  He  had  to  brace  His 
body,  to  nerve  His  soul,  to"'calm  His  spirit,  by  prayer  and 
solitude  to  meet  that  hour  in  which  all  that  is  evil  in  the 
Power  of  Evil  should  wreak  its  worst  upon  the  Innocent 
and  Holy.  And  He  must  face  that  hour  alone:  no  humai\ 
eye  must  witness,  except  through  the  twilight  and  shadow, 
the  depth  of  His  suffering.  Yet  He  would  have  gladly 
shared  their  sympathy;  it  helped  Him  in  this  hour  of  dark- 
ness to  feel  that  they  were  near,  and  that  those  were  nearest 
who  loved  Him  best.  "Stay  here,"  he  said  to  the  major- 
ity, "  while  I  go  there  and  pray."  Leaving  them  to  sleep 
on  the  damp  grass,  each  wrapped  in  his  outer  garment.  He 
took  with  Him  Peter  and  James  and  John,  and  went  about 


GETHSEMANE.  445 

a  stone's-throw  further.  It  was  well  that  Peter  should 
face  all  that  was  involved  in  allegiance  to  Christ ;  it  was 
well  that  James  and  John  should  know  what  was  that  cup 
which  they  had  desired  pre-eminently  to  drink.  But  soon 
even  the  society  of  these  chosen  and  trusted  ones  was  more 
than  He  could  bear.  A  grief  beyond  utterance,  a  struggle 
beyond  endurance,  a  horror  of  great  darkness,  a  giddiness 
and  stupefaction  of  soul  overmastered  Him,  as  with  the 
sinking  swoon  of  an  anticipated  death.  It  was  a  tumult  of 
emotion  which  none  must  see.  "My  soul,"  He  said,  ''is 
full  of  anguish,  even  unto  death.  Stay  here  and  keep 
watch."  Keluctantly  He  tore  Himself  away  from  their 
sustaining  tenderness  and  devotion,  and  retired  yet  further, 
perhaps  out  of  the  moonlight  into  the  shadow.  And  there, 
until  slumber  overpowered  them,  they  wei'e  conscious  of 
how  dreadful  was  that  paroxysm  of  prayer  and  suffering 
through  which  He  passed.  They  saw  Him  sometimes  on 
His  knees,  sometimes  outstretclied  in  prostrate  supplica- 
tion upon  the  damp  ground  ;  they  heard  snatches  of  the 
sounds  of  murmured  anguish  ii^  which  His  humanity 
pleaded  with  the  divine  will  of  His  Father.  The  actual 
words  might  vary,  but  the  substance  was  the  same  through- 
out. "Abba,  Father,  all  things  are  possible  unto  Thee; 
take  away  this  cup  from  me;  nevertheless,  not  what  I  will, 
but  what  Thou  wilt." 

And  that  prayer  in  all  its  infinite  reverence  and  awe  was 
heard;  that  strong  crying  and  those  tears  were  not  rejected. 
AVe  may  not  intrude  too  closely  into  this  scene.  It  is 
shrouded  in  a  halo  and  a  mystery  into  which  no  footstep 
may  penetrate.  We,  as  we  contemplate  it,  are  like  those 
disciples — our  senses  are  confused,  our  perceptions  are  not 
clear.  We  can  but  enter  into  their  amazement  and  sore 
distress.  Half  waking,  half  oppressed  with  an  irresistible 
weight  of  troubled  slumber,  they  only  felt  that  they  were 
dim  witnesses  of  an  unutterable  agony,  far  deejter  than 
anything  which  they  could  fathom,  as  it  far  transcended 
all  that,  even  in  our  purest  moments,  we  can  pretend  to 
understand.  Tlie  place  seems  haunted  by  presences  of 
good  and  evil,  struggling  in  mighty  but  silent  contest  for 
the  eternal  victory.  Tliey  see  Ilim,  before  whom  the 
demons  had  fled  in  howling  terror,  lying  on  His  face  upon 
the  ground.     They  hear  that  voice  wailing  in  murmurs  of 


UC>  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

broken  agony,  which  had  commanded  the  wind  and  the 
sea,  and  they  obeyed  Him.  The  great  drops  of  anguisii 
which  drop  from  Him  in  the  deathfnl  struggle,  look  to 
them  like  heavy  gouts  of  blood.  Under  the  dark  shadows 
of  the  trees,  amid  the  interrupted  moonlight,  it  seems  to 
them  tiiat  there  is  an  angel  with  Him,  who  supports  His 
failing  strength,  who  enables  Him  to  rise  victorious  from 
those  first  prayeis  with  nothing  but  the  crimson  traces  oi 
that  bitter  struggle  upon  His  brow. 

And  whence  came  all  this  agonized  failing  of  heart,  this 
fearful  amazement, this  horror  of  great  darkness,  this  passion 
which  almost  brought  Him  down  to  the  grave  before  a  single 
pang  had  been  inflicted  upon  Him — which  forced  from 
Him  the  rare  and  intense  phenomenon  of  a  blood-stained 
sweat — which  almost  prostrated  body,  and  soul,  and  spirit 
with  one  final  blow?  Was  it  the  mere  dread  of  death — 
the  mere  effort  and  determination  to  face  that  which  He 
foreknew  in  all  its  dread fuhiess,  but  from  which,  never- 
theless, His  soul  recoiled  ?  There  have  been  those  who 
have  dared  —  I  can  scarcely  write  it  without  shame  and 
sorrow — to  speak  very  slightingly  about  Gethsemane  ;  to 
regard  that  awful  scene,  from  the  summit  of  their  igno- 
rant presumption,  with  an  almost  contemptuous  dislike — 
to  speak  as  though  Jesus  had  there  shown  a  cowardly 
sensibility.  Thus,  at  the  very  moment  when  we  should 
most  wonder  and  admire,  they 

"  Not  even  from  the  Holy  One  of  Heaven 
Refrain  their  tongues  blasphemous." 

And  yet,  if  no  other  motive  influence  them — if  they  merely 
regard  Him  as  a  Prophet  preparing  for  a  cruel  death — if  no 
sense  of  decency,  no  power  of  sympathy,  restrain  them 
from  thus  insulting  even  a  Martyr's  agony  at  the  moment 
when  its  pang  was  most  intense  —  does  not  common  fair- 
ness, does  not  the  most  ordinary  historic  criticism,  show 
them  how  cold  and  false,  if  nothing  worse,  must  be  the 
miserable  insensibility  which  prevents  them  from  seeing 
that  it  could  have  been  no  mere  dread  of  pain,  no  mere 
shrinking  from  death,  which  thus  agitated  to  its  inmost 
center  the  pure  and  innocent  soul  of  the  Son  of  Man  ? 
Could  not  even  a  child  see  how  inconsistent  would  be  such 
an  hypothesis   with   that   heroic   fortitude   which   fifteen 


QETHSEMANE.  447 

hours  of  subsequent  sleepless  agony  could  not  disturb — 
with  the  majestic  silence  before  priests  and  procurator,  and 
Jiiiig  —  with  the  endurance  from  which  the  extreme  of 
torture  could  not  wring  one  cry — with  the  calm  and  infinite 
ascendancy  which  overawed  the  hardened  and  worldly 
Roman  into  involuntary  respect  —  with  the  undisturbed 
supremacy  of  soul  which  opened  the  gates  of  Paradise  to 
the  repentant  malefactor,  and  breathed  compassionate  for- 
giveness on  the  apostate  priests?  The  Son  of  Man  humili- 
ated into  prostration  by  the  mere  abject  fear  of  death, 
which  trembling  old  men  and  feeble  jnaidens,  and  timid 
boys — a  Polycarp,  a  Blundina,  an  Attains — have  yet  braved 
without  a  sigh  or  a  shudder,  solely  through  faith  in  His 
name!  Strange  that  He  should  be'thus  insulted  by  impious 
tongues,  who  brought  to  light  that  life  and  immortality 
from  whence  came  the 

"  Ruendi 
In  ferrum  mens  prona  viris,  animaeque  capaces 
Mortis,  et  ignavum  rediturae  parcere  vitae  !" 

— (Luc.  PJiars.  i.  455.) 

The  meanest  of  idiots,  the  coarsest  of  criminals,  have  ad- 
vanced to  the  scaffold  without  a  tremor  or  a  sob,  and  many 
a  brainless  and  brutal  murderer  has  mounted  the  ladder 
with  a  firm  step,  and  looked  round  upon  a  yelling  mob  with 
an  unflinching  countenance.  To  adopt  the  commonplace  of 
orators,  "  There  is  no  passion  in  the  mind  of  man  so  weak 
but  it  mates  and  masters  the  fear  of  death.  Revenge  tri- 
nmphs  over  death  ;  love  slights  it ;  honor  aspireth  to  it ; 
grief  flieth  to  it ;  fear  preoccupateth  it.  A  man  would 
die,  though  he  were  neither  valiant  nor  miserable,  only 
npon  a  weariness  to  do  the  same  thing  so  oft  over  and 
over.  It  is  no  less  worthy  to  observe  how  little  alteration 
in  good  spirits  the  approaches  of  death  make:  for  they  ap- 
pear to  be  tlie  same  men  till  the  last  instant."  It  is  as 
natural  to  die  as  to  be  born.  The  Christian  hardly  needs 
to  be  told  that  it  was  no  such  vulgar  fear  which  forced 
from  his  Saviour  that  sweat  of  blood.  No,  it  was  some- 
thing infinitely  more  than  this  :  infinitely  more  than  the 
highest  stretch  of  our  imagination  can  realize.  It  was 
something  far  deadlier  than  death.  It  was  the  burden 
and  the  mystery  of  the  world's  sin  which  lay  heavy  on  His 


448  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRTST. 

lieart  ;  it  was  tlie  tasting,  in  the  divine  humanity  of  a  sin- 
less life,  the  bitter  cup  which  sin  had  poisoned;  it  was  the 
bowing  of  Godhead  to  endure  a  stroke  to  which  man's 
apostasy  had  lent  such  frightful  possibilities.  It  was  the 
sense,  too,  of  how  virulent,  how  frightful,  must  have  been 
the  force  of  evil  in  the  Universe  of  God  which  could 
render  necessary  so  infinite  a  sacrifice.  It  was  the  endurance, 
by  the  perfectly  guiltless,  of  the  worst  malice  which 
human  hatred  could  devise  ;  it  was  to  experience  in  the 
bosom  of  perfect  innocence  and  perfect  love,  all  that  was 
detestable  in  human  ingratitude,  all  that  was  pestilent  in 
human  hypocrisy,  all  that  was  cruel  in  human  rage.  It 
was  to  brave  the  last  triumph  of  Satanic  spite  and  fury, 
uniting  against  His  lonely  head  all  the  flaming  arrows 
of  Jewish  falsity  and  heathen  corruption  —  the  concen- 
trated wrath  of  the  rich  and  respectable,  the  yelling  fury 
of  the  blind  and  brutal  mob.  It  was  to  feel  that  His  own, 
to  whom  He  came,  loved  darkness  rather  than  light  — 
that  the  race  of  the  chosen  people  could  be  wholly  absorbed 
in  one  insane  re^Dulsion  against  infinite  goodness  and 
purity  and  love. 

Through  all  this  he  passed  in  that  hour  which,  with  a 
recoil  of  sinless  horror  beyond  our  capacity  to  conceive, 
foretasted  a  worse  bitterness  than  the  worst  bitterness  of 
death.  And  after  a  time  —  victorious  indeed,  but  weary 
almost  to  fainting,  like  His  ancestor  Jacob,  with  the  strug- 
gle of  those  supplications —  He  came  to  seek  one  touch  of 
human  support  and  human  sympathy  fi'om  the  chosen  of 
the  chosen — His  three  Apostles.  Alas  I  He  found  them 
sleeping.  It  was  an  hour  of  fear  and  peril;  yet  no  cer- 
tainty of  danger,  no  love  for  Jesus,  no  feeling  for  His  un- 
speakable dejection,  had  sufficed  to  hold  their  eyes  waking. 
Their  grief,  their  weariness,  their  intense  excitement,  had 
sought  relief  in  heavy  slumber.  Even  Peter,  after  all  his 
impetuous  promises,  lay  in  deep  sleep,  for  his  eyes  were 
heavy.  "Simon,  sleepest  thou?"  was  all  He  said.  As  the 
sad  reproachful  sentence  fell  on  their  ears,  and  startled 
them  from  their  slumbers,  "  Were  ye  so  unable,"  He 
asked,  "to  watch  with  me  a  single  hour!  Watch  and 
pray  that  ye  enter  not  into  temptation,"  And  then,  not  to 
palliate  their  failure,  but  rather  to  point  out  the  peril  of 
it,  "  The  spirit,"  he  added,  "  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is 
weak." 


QETHSEMANE.  449 

Once  more  He  left  them,  and  again,  with  deeper  inten- 
sity, repeated  the  same  prayer  as  before,  and  in  a  pause  of 
His  emotion  came  back  to  His  disciples.  But  they  had 
once  more  fallen  asleep ;  nor,  when  He  awoke  them, 
could  they,  in  their  heaviness  and  confusion,  find  anything 
to  say  to  Him.  Well  might  He  have  said,  in  the  words  of 
David,  "  Thy  rebuke  hath  broken  my  heart;  I  am  full  of 
heaviness;  I  looked  for  some  to  have  pity  on  me,  but  there 
was  no  man,  neither  found  I  auv  to  comfort  me."  (Ps. 
Ixix.  20.) 

For  the  third  and  last  time  —  but  now  with  a  deeper 
calm,  and  a  brighter  serenity  of  that  triumphant  confi- 
dence which  had  breathed  through  the  High-Priestly 
prayer — He  withdrew  to  find  His  only  consolation  in  com- 
muning with  God.  And  there  He  found  all  that  He 
needed.  Before  that  hour  was  over  He  was  prepared  for 
the  worst  that  Satan  or  man  could  do.  He  knew  all  that 
would  befall  Him;  perhaps  He  had  already  caught  sight  of 
the  irregular  glimmering  of  lights  as  His  pursuers  descended 
from  the  Temple  precincts.  Yet  there  was  no  trace  of 
agitation  in  His  quiet  words  when,  coming  a  third  time 
and  finding  them  once  more  sleeping,  "Sleep  on  now," 
He  said,  "and  take  your  rest.  It  is  enougli.  The  hour  is 
come.  Lo!  the  Son  of  Man  is  being  betrayed  into  the 
hands  of  sinners."  For  all  the  aid  that  you  can  render, 
for  all  the  comfort  your  sympathy  can  bestow,  sleep  on. 
But  all  is  altered  now.  It  is  not  I  who  now  wish  to  break 
these  your  heavy  slumbers.  They  will  be  very  rudely  and 
sternly  broken  by  others.  "  Eise,  then  ;  let  us  be  going. 
Lol  he  that  betrayeth  me  is  at  hand." 

Yes,  it  was  more  tlian  time  to  rise,  for  while  saints  had 
slumbered  sinners  had  plotted  and  toiled  in  exaggerated 
preparation.  While  they  slei)t  in  their  heavy  anguish,  the 
traitor  had  been  very  wakeful  in  his  active  malignity. 
More  than  two  hours  had  passed  since  from  the  lighted 
chamber  of  their  happy  communion  he  hud  plunged  into 
the  night,  and  those  hours  had  been  very  fully  occupied. 
He  had  gone  to  the  High  Priests  and  Pharisees,  agitating 
them  and  hurrying  them  on  with  his  own  passionate  pre- 
cipitancy; and  partly  perhaps  out  of  genuine  terror  of  Him 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  partly  to  enhance  his  own  im- 
portance, had  got  the  leading  Jews  to  furnish  him  with  a 


450  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

motley  band  composed  of  tlieir  own  servants,  of  the 
Temple  watch  with  their  officers,  and  even  with  a  part  at 
least  of  the  Roman  garrison  from  the  tower  of  Antonia, 
under  the  command  of  their  tribune.  They  were  going 
against  One  who  was  deserted  and  defenceless,  yet  the 
soldiers  were  armed  with  swords,  and  even  the  promiscuous 
throng  had  provided  themselves  with  sticks.  They  were 
going  to  seize  One  who  would  make  no  attempt  at  flight  or 
concealment,  and  the  full  moon  shed  its  luster  on  their 
unhallowed  expedition;  yet,  lest  He  should  escape  them  in 
some  limestone  grotto,  or  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  olives, 
they  carried  lanterns  and  torches  in  their  hands.  It  is 
evident  that  they  made  their  movements  as  noiseless  and 
stealthy  as  possible;  but  at  niglit  a  deep  stillness  hangs 
over  an  Oriental  city,  and  so  large  a  tl)roug  could  not  move 
unnoticed.  Already,  as  Jesus  was  awaking  His  sleepy  dis- 
ciples. His  ears  had  caught  in  the  distance  the  clank  of 
swords,  the  tread  of  hurrying  footsteps,  the  ill-suppressed 
tumult  of  an  advancing  crowd.  He  knew  all  that  awaited 
Him;  He  knew  that  the  quiet  gai'den  which  He  had  loved, 
and  where  He  had  so  often  held  happy  intercourse  with 
His  disciples,  was  familiar  to  thetraitoi".  Those  unwonted 
and  hostile  sounds,  that  red  glare  of  lamps  and  torches 
athwart  the  moonlit  interspaces  of  the  olive-yards,  were 
enough  to  show  that  Judas  had  betrayed  the  secret  of  His 
retirement,  and  was  even  now  at  hand. 

And  even  as  Jesus  spoke  the  traitor  himself  appeared. 
Overdoing  his  part — acting  in  the  too-hurried  impetuosity 
of  a  crime  so  hideous  that  he  dared  not  pause  to 
think — he  pressed  forward  into  the  inclosure,  and 
was  in  front  of  all  the  rest.  "Comrade,"  said  Jesus  to 
him  as  he  hurried  forward,  "  the  crime  for  which  thou  art 

come "     The  sentence  seems  to  have  been  cut  short  by 

the  deep  agitation  of  His  spirit,  nor  did  Judas  return  any 
answer,  intent  only  on  giving  to  his  confederates  his  shame- 
ful preconcerted  sigTial.  "He  whom  I  kiss,"  he  had  said 
to  them,  "the  same  is  He.  Seize  Him  at  once,  and  lead 
Him  away  safely."  And  so,  advancing  to  Jesus  with  his 
usual  cold  title  of  address,  he  exclaimed,  "Rabbi,  Rabbi, 
hail  !"  and  profaned  tiie  sacred  cheek  of  his  Master  with 
a  kiss  of  overacted  salutation.  "Judas,"  said  Jesus  to 
him,  with  stern  and  sad  reproach,  "dost  thou  betray  the 


GETIISEMANE.  451 

Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss  ?"  These  words  were  enough,  for 
they  simply  revealed  the  man  to  himself,  by  stating  his 
hideous  act  in  all  its  simplicity ;  and  the  method  of  his 
treachery  was  so  unparalleled  in  its  heinousness,  so  needless 
and  spontaneously  wicked,  that  more  words  would  have 
been  superfluous.  With  feelings  that  the  very  devils  might 
have  pitied,  the  wretch  slunk  back  to  the  door  of  the 
inclosure,  toward  which  the  rest  of  the  crowd  were  now 
beginning  to  press. 

"  Lord,  shall  we  smite  with  the  sword?"  was  the  eager 
question  of  St.  Peter,  and  the  only  other  disciple  provided 
with  a  weapon  ;  for,  being  within  the  garden,  the  Apostles 
were  still  unaware  of  the  number  of  the  captors.  Jesus 
did  not  at  once  answer  the  question  ;  for  no  sooner  had 
He  repelled  the  villainous  falsity  of  Judas  than  He  Him- 
self stepped  out  of  the  inclosure  to  face  His  pursuers.  Not 
flying,  not  attempting  to  hide  Himself,  He  stood  there  be- 
fore them  in  the  full  moonlight  in  His  unarmed  and  lonely 
majesty,  shaming  by  His  calm  presence  their  superfluous 
torches  and  superfluous  arms. 

"  Whom  are  ye  seeking  ?"  He  asked. 

The  question  was  not  objectless.  It  was  asked,  as  St. 
John  points  out  (John  xviii.  8),  to  secure  His  Apostles 
from  all  molestation  ;  and  we  may  suppose  also  that  it 
served  to  make  all  who  were  present  the  witnesses  of  His 
arrest,  and  so  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  any  secret 
assassination  or  foul  play. 

"Jesus  of  Nazareth,"  they  answered. 

Their  excitement  and  awe  preferred  this  indirect  answer, 
though  if  there  could  have  been  any  doubt  as  to  who  the 
speaker  was,  Judas  was  there — the  eye  of  the  Evangelist 
noticed  him,  trying  in  vain  to  lurk  amid  the  serried  ranks 
of  the  crowd — to  prevent  any  possible  mistake  which  might 
have  been  caused  by  the  failure  of  his  premature  and  there- 
fore disconcerted  signal. 

"  I  am  He,"  said  Jesus. 

Those  quiet  words  produced  a  sudden  paroxysm  of 
amazement  and  dread.  That  answer  so  gentle  "  had  in  it 
a  strength  greater  than  the  eastern  wind,  or  the  voice  of 
thunder,  for  God  was  in  that  'still  voice/ and  it  struck 
them  down  to  the  ground."  Instances  are  not  wanting  in 
history  in  which  the  untroubled   brow,    the  mere  glance, 


452  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

the  calm  bearing  of  some  defenceless  man,  has  disarmed 
and  paralyzcid  his  enemies.  The  savage  and  brutal  Gauls 
could  not  lift  their  swords  to  strike  the  majestic  senators 
of  Rome.  "  I  cannot  slay  Marius,"  exclaimed  the  barba- 
rian slave,  flinging  down  his  sword  and  flying  headlong  from 
the  i^rison  into  which  he  had  been  sent  to  murder  the  aged 
hero.  Is  there,  then,  any  ground  for  the  scoffing  skepti- 
cism with  which  many  have  received  St.  John's  simple  but 
striking  narrative,  that,  at  the  words  "  I  am  He,"  a  move- 
ment of  contagious  terror  took  place  among  the  crowd,  and, 
starting  back  in  confusion,  some  of  them  fell  to  the  ground  ? 
Nothing  surely  was  more  natural.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  Judas  was  among  them  ;  that  Ms  soul  was  undoubt- 
edly in  a  state  of  terrible  perturbation  ;  that  Orientals  are 
specially  liable  to  sudden  panic  ;  that  fear  is  an  emotion 
eminently  sympathetic  ;  that  most  of  them  must  have 
heard  of  the  miglity  miracles  of  Jesus,  and  that  all  were  at 
any  rate  aware  that  He  claimed  to  be  a  Prophet ;  that  the 
manner  in  which  He  met  this  large  multitude,  which  the 
alarms  of  Judas  had  dictated  as  essential  to  His  capture, 
suggested  the  likelihood  of  some  appeal  to  supernatural 
powers  ;  that  they  were  engaged  in  one  of  those  deeds  of 
guilty  violence  and  midnight  darkness  which  paralyze  the 
stoutest  minds.  When  we  bear  this  in  mind,  and  when  we 
remember  too  that  on  many  occasions  in  His  history  the 
mere  presence  and  word  of  Christ  had  sufficed  to  quell  the 
fury  of  the  multitude,  and  to  keep  Him  safe  in  the  midst 
of  them  (Luke  iv.  30  ;  John  vii.  30  ;  viii.  59  ;  x.  39  ;  Mark 
xi.  18),  it  hardly  needs  any  recourse  to  miracle  to  account 
for  the  fact  that  these  official  marauders  and  their  infa- 
mous guide  recoiled  from  those  simple  words,  ''lam  He," 
as  though  the  lightning  had  suddenly  been  flashed  into 
their  faces. 

While  they  stood  cowering  and  struggling  there.  He 
again  asked  them,  "Whom  are  ye  seeking  ';"  Again  they 
replied,  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth."  "  I  told  you,"  He  answered, 
"  that  I  am  He.  If,  then,  ye  are  seeking  me,  let  these  go 
away."  For  He  Himself  had  said  in  His  prayer,  "  Of 
those  Avhom  Thou  hast  given  me  have  I  lost  none." 

The  words  were  a  signal  to  the  Apostles  that  they  could 
no  longer  render  Him  any  service,  and  that  they  might 
now  consult  their  own  safety  if  they  would.     But  when 


QETHSEMANE.  453 

they  saw  that  He  meant  to  offer  no  resistance,  that  He  was 
indeed  about  to  surrender  Himself  to  His  enemies,  some 
pulse  of  nobleness  or  of  shame  throbbed  in  the  impetuous 
soul  of  Peter;  and  hopeless  and  useless  as  all  resistance 
had  now  become,  he  yet  drew  his  sword,  and  with  a  feeble 
and  ill-aimed  blow  severed  the  ear  of  a  man  named 
Malchus,  a  servant  of  the  High  Priest.  Instantly  Jesus 
stopped  tlie  ill-timed  and  dangerous  struggle.  "  Return 
that  sword  of  thine  into  its  place,"  He  said  to  Peter,  "for 
all  they  that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword  ;" 
and  then  He  reproachfully  asked  His  rash  disciple  whether 
he  really  supposed  that  He  could  not  escape  if  He  would? 
whether  the  mere  breathing  of  a  prayer  would  not  secure 
for  Him — had  He  not  voluntarily  intended  to  fulfill  the 
Scriptures  by  drinking  the  cup  which  His  father  had  given 
Him — the  aid,  not  of  twelve  timid  Apostles,  but  of  more 
than  twelve  legions  of  angels  ?  And  then,  turning  to  the 
soldiers  who  were  holding  Him,  He  said,  ''  Suffer  ye  thus 
far,"  and  in  one  last  act  of  miraculous  mercy  touched 
and  healed  the  wound. 

In  the  confusion  of  the  night  this  whole  incident  seems 
to  have  passed  unnoticed  except  by  a  very  few.  At  any 
rate,  it  made  no  impression  npon  these  hardened  men. 
Their  terror  had  quite  vanished,  and  had  been  replaced  by 
insolent  confidence.  The  Great  Prophet  had  voluntarily 
resigned  Himself ;  He  was  their  helpless  captive.  No 
thunder  had  rolled  ;  no  angel  flashed  down  from  heaven 
for  His  deliverance  ;  no  miraculous  fire  devoured  amongst 
them.  They  saw  before  them  nothing  but  a  weary  un- 
armed man,  whom  one  of  His  own  most  intimate  followers 
had  betrayed,  and  whose  arrest  was  simply  watched  in 
helpless  agony  by  a  few  terrified  Galileans.  They  had  fast 
hold  of  Him,  and  already  some  chief  priests,  and  elders, 
and  leading  officers  of  the  Temple-guard  had  ventured  to 
come  out  of  the  dark  background  from  which  they  had 
securely  seen  ?Iis  capture,  and  to  throng  about  Him  in  in- 
sulting curiosity.  To  these  especially  He  turned,  and  said 
to  them,  "  Have  ye  come  out  as  against  a  robber  with 
swords  and  staves?  When  I  Avas  daily  with  you  in  the 
Temple  ye  did  not  stretch  out  your  hands  against  me. 
But  this  is  your  hour,  and  the  power  of  darkness."  Those 
fatal  words  quenclied  the  last  gleam  of  hope  in  the  minds 


454  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  His  followers.  ''  Then  His  disciples,  all  of  them  " — 
even  the  fiery  Peter,  even  the  loving  John — "forsook  Him, 
and  fled."  At  that  supreme  moment  only  one  unknown 
youth — perhaps  the  owner  of  Gethsemaue,  perhaps  St. 
Mark  the  Evangelist,  perhaps  Lazarus  tlie  brother  of 
Martha  and  Mary — ventured  in  his  intense  excitement,  to 
hover  on  the  outskirts  of  the  hostile  crowd.  He  had 
apparently  been  roused  from  sleeji,  for  he  had  nothing  to 
cover  him  except  the  sinaon,  or  Imen  sheet,  in  which  he  had 
been  sleeping.  But  the  Jewish  emissaries,  either  out  of 
the  mere  wantonness  of  a  crowd  at  seeing  a  person  in  an 
unwonted  guise,  or  because  they  resented  his  too  close  in- 
trusion, seized  hold  of  the  sheet  which  he  had  wrapped 
about  him  ;  wliereupon  he  too  was  suddenly  terrified,  and 
fled  away  naked,  leaving  the  linen  garment  in  their  hands. 
Jesus  was  now  absolutely  alone  in  the  power  of  His 
enemies.  At  the  command  of  the  tribune  His  hands  were 
tied  behind  His  back,  and  forming  a  close  array  around 
Him,  the  Roman  soldiers,  followed  and  surrounded  by  the 
Jewish  servants,  led  Him  once  more  through  the  night, 
over  the  Kedron,  and  up  the  steep  city  slope  beyond  it,  to 
the  palace  of  the  High  Priest. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

JESUS   BEFORE   THE    PRIESTS   AND   THE   SAKHEDRIN". 

Although  skeptics  have  dwelt  with  disproportioned  per- 
sistency upon  a  multitude  of  "discrepancies"  in  the  four- 
fold narrative  of  Christ's  trial,  condemnation,  death,  and 
resurrection,  yet  these  are  not  of  a  nature  to  cause  the 
slightest  anxiety  to  a  Christian  scholar  ;  nor  need  they 
awaken  the  most  momentary  distrust  in  any  one  who — 
even  if  he  have  no  deeper  feelings  in  the  matter — ap- 
jjroaches  the  Gospels  with  no  preconceived  theory,  whether 
of  infallibility  or  of  dishonesty,  to  support,  and  merely 
accepts  them  for  that  which,  at  the  lowest,  they  claim  to  be 
— histories  honest  and  faithful  up  to  the  full  knowledge  of 
the  writers,  but  eacli,  if  taken  alone,  confessedly  fragment- 
ary and  obviously  incomplete.  After  repeated  study,  I  de- 
clare, quite  fearlessly,  that  though  the  slight  variations  are 


JESUS  BEFORE  THE  PRIESTS.  455 

numerous — though  the  lesser  particuhirs  cannot  in  every 
instance  be  rigidly  and  minutely  accurate — though  no  one 
of  the  narratives  taken  singly  would  give  us  an  adequate 
impression  —  yet,  so  far  from  there  being,  iu  this 
part  of  the  Gospel  story,  any  irreconcilable  contradiction, 
it  is  perfectly  possible  to  discover  how  one  Evangelist  sup- 
plements the  details  furnished  by  another,  and  perfectly 
possible  to  understand  the  true  sequence  of  the  incidents 
by  combining  into  one  wliole  the  separate  indications  which 
they  furnish.  It  is  easy  to  call  such  combinations  arbitrary 
and  baseless  ;  but  they  are  only  arbitrary  in  so  far  that  we 
cannot  always  be  absolutely  certain  that  the  succession  of 
facts  was  exactly  such  as  we  suppose  ;  and  so  far  are  they 
from  being  baseless,  that,  to  the  careful  reader  of  the  Gos- 
pels, they  carry  with  them  a  conviction  little  short  of  cer- 
tainty. If  we  treat  the  Gospels  as  we  should  treat  any 
other  authentic  documents  recording  all  that  the  authors 
knew,  or  all  that  they  felt  themselves  commissioned  to 
record,  of  the  crowded  incidents  in  one  terrible  and  tumul- 
tuous day  and  night,  we  shall,  with  care  and  study,  see 
how  all  that  they  tell  us  falls  accurately  into  its  proper 
position  in  the  general  narrative,  and  shows  us  a  sixfold 
trial,  a  quadruple  derision,  a  triple  acquittal,  a  twice- 
repeated  condemnation  of  Christ  our  Lord. 

Keading  the  Gospels  side  by  side,  we  soon  perceive  that 
of  the  three  successive  trials  which  our  Lord  underwent  at 
the  hands  of  the  Jews,  the  first  only — that  before  Annas — 
is  related  to  us  by  St.  John  ;  the  second — that  before 
Caiaphas — by  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Mark  ;  the  third — that 
before  the  Sanhedrin — by  St.  Luke  alone.  Nor  is  there 
anything  strange  in  this,  since  the  first  was  the  practical, 
the  second  the  potential,  the  third  the  actual  and  formal 
decision,  that  sentence  of  death  should  be  passed  judicially 
upon  Him.  Each  of  the  three  trials  might,  from  a  differ- 
ent point  of  view,  have  been  regarded  as  the  most  fatal 
and  important  of  the  three.  That  of  Annas  was  the 
authoritative  ^rac/w(/i6'm/;i,  that  of  Caiaphas  the  real  deter- 
mination, that  of  the  entire  Sanhedrin  at  daybreak  the 
final  ratification. 

When  the  tribune,  who  commanded  the  detachment  of 
Roman  soldiers,  had  ordered  Jesus  to  be  bound,  they  led 
Him  away  without  an  attempt  at  opposition.     Midnight 


456  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRTST. 

was  already  passed  as  they  hurried  Him,  from  the  moon- 
lit shadows  of  sreen  Getlisemaue,  through  the  hushed 
streets  of  the  sleeping  city,  to  the  palace  of  the  High 
Priest.  It  seems  to  have  been  jointly  occupied  by  the 
prime  movers  in  this  black  iniquity,  Annas  and  his  son-in- 
law,  Joseph  Caiaphas.  They  led  Him  to  Annas  first.  It 
is  true  that  this  Hanan,  son  of  Seth,  the  Ananus  of  Jose- 
phus,  and  the  Annas  of  the  Evangelists,  had  only  been  the 
actual  High  Priest  for  seven  years  (a.d.  7 — 14),  and  that 
more  than  twenty  years  before  this  period  he  had  been 
deposed  by  the  Procurator  Valerius  Gratus.  He  had  been 
succeeded  first  by  Isniael  ]3eu  Phabi,  then  by  his  son  Elea- 
zar,  then  by  his  son-in-law.  Joseph  Caiaphas.  But  the 
priestly  families  would  not  be  likely  to  attach  more  import- 
ance than  they  chose  to  a  deposition  which  a  strict  observer 
of  the  Law  would  have  regarded  as  invalid  and  sacrilegi- 
ous; nor  would  so  astute  a  people  as  the  Jews  be  likely  to 
lack  devices  which  would  enable  them  to  evade  the  Roman 
fiat,  and  to  treat  Annas,  if  they  wished  to  do  so,  as  their 
High  Priest  cle  jure,  if  not  de  facto.  Since  the  days  of 
Herod  the  Great,  the  High  Priesthood  had  been  degraded, 
from  a  permanent  religious  office,  to  a  temporary  secular 
distinction;  and,  even  had  it  been  otherwise,  the  rude 
legionaries  would  probably  care  less  than  nothing  to  whom 
they  led  their  victim.  If  the  tribune  condescended  to  ask 
a  question  about  it,  it  would  be  easy  for  the  Captain  of  the 
Temple — who  may  very  probably  have  been  at  this  time, 
as  we  know  was  the  case  subsequently,  one  of  the  sons  of 
Annas  himself — to  represent  Annas  as  the  Sagau  or  Nasi 
— the  "  Deputy,"  or  the  President  of  the  Sanhedrin — and 
so  as  the  proper  person  to  conduct  the  preliminary  inves- 
tigation. 

i.  Accordingly,  it  was  before  Hanan  that  Jesus  stood 
first  as  a  prisoner  at  the  tribunal  (John  xviii.  13,  19-24). 
It  is  probable  that  he  and  his  family  had  been  originally 
summoned  by  Herod  the  Great  from  Alexandria,  as  supple 
supporters  of  a  distasteful  tyranny.  The  Jewish  historian 
calls  this  Hanan  the  happiest  man  of  his  time,  because  he 
died  at  an  advanced  old  age,  and  because  both  he  and  five 
of  his  sons  in  succession — not  to  mention  his  son-in-law — 
had  enjoyed  the  shadow  of  the  High  Priesthood  ;  so  that, 
in  fact,  for  nearly  half  a  century  he  had  practically  wielded 


JESUS  BEFORE  TEE  PRIESTS.  457 

the  sacerdotal  power.  But  to  be  admired  by  such  a  rene- 
gade as  Josephus  is  a  .questionable  advantage.  In  spite  of 
his  prosperity  he  seems  to  liave  left  behind  him  but  an  evil 
name,  and  we  know  enough  of  his  character,  even  from 
the  most  unsuspected  sources,  to  recognize  in  him  nothing 
better  than  an  astute,  tyrannous,  worldly  Sadducee,  un- 
venerable  for  all  his  seventy  years,  full  of  a  serpentine 
malice  and  meanness  which  utterly  belied  the  meaning  of 
his  name,  and  engaged  at  this  very  moment  in  a  dark,  dis- 
orderly conspiracy,  for  which  even  a  worse  man  would 
have  had  cause  to  blush.  It  was  before  this  alien  and  in- 
triguing hierarch  that  there  began,  at  midnight,  the  first 
stage  of  that  long  and  terrible  trial  (John  xviii.  19-24). 
And  there  was  good  reason  why  St.  John  should  have 
preserved  for  us  tliis  phase  of  the  trial,  and  preserved  it 
apparently  for  the  express  reason  that  it  had  been  omitted 
by  the  other  Evangelists.  It  is  not  till  after  a  lapse  of 
years  that  people  can  always  see  clearly  the  prime  mover 
in  events  with  which  they  have  been  contemporary.  At 
the  time,  the  ostensible  agent  is  the  one  usually  regarded 
as  most  responsible,  though  he  may  be  in  reality  a  mere 
link  in  the  official  machinery.  But  if  there  were  one  man 
who  was  more  guilty  than  any  other  of  the  death  of  Jesus, 
that  man  was  Hanan.  His  advanced  age,  his  preponderant 
dignity,  his  worldly  position  and  influence,  as  one  who 
stood  on  the  best  terms  with  the  Herods  and  the  Procura- 
tors, gave  an  exceptional  weight  to  his  prerogative  decision. 
The  mere  fact  that  he  should  have  noticed  Jesus  at  all 
showed  that  he  attached  to  His  teaching  a  political  signifi- 
cance— showed  that  he  was  at  least  afraid  lest  Jesus  should 
alienate  the  people  yet  more  entirely  from  the  pontifical 
clique  than  had  ever  been  done  by  Shemaia  or  Abtalion. 
It  is  most  remarkable,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  scarcely 
ever  been  noticed,  that,  although  the  Pharisees  undoubt- 
edly were  actuated  by  a  burning  hatred  against  Jesus,  and 
were  even  so  eager  for  His  death  as  to  be  willing  to  co- 
operate with  the  aristocratic  and  priestly  Sadducees — from 
whom  they  were  ordinarily  separated  by  every  kind  of  dif- 
ference, political,  social  and  religious — yet,  from  the  mo- 
ment that  the  plot  for  His  arrest  and  condemnation  had 
been  matured,  the  Pharisees  took  so  little  part  in  it  that 
their  name  is  not  once  directly  mentioned  in  any  event 


458  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

connected  with  the  arrest,  the  trial,  the  derisions  and  tlie 
crucifixion.  The  Pharisees,  as  such,  disappear ;  the  chief 
priests  and  elders  take  their  place.  It  is,  indeed,  doubtful 
whether  any  of  the  more  distinguished  Pharisees  were 
members  of  the  degraded  simulacrum  of  authority  whicli 
in  those  bad  days  still  arrogated  to  itself  the  title  of  a  San- 
hedrin.  If  we  may  believe  not  a  few  of  the  indications  of 
the  Talmud,  that  Sanhedrin  was  little  better  than  a  close, 
irreligious,  unpatriotic  confederacy  of  monopolizing  and 
time-serving  priests — the  Boothusim,  the  Kamhits,  the 
Phabis,  the  family  of  Hanan,  mostly  of  non-Palestinian 
origin — who  were  supported  by  the  government,  but  de- 
tested by  the  people,  and  of  whom  this  bad  conspirator  was 
tiie  very  life  and  soul. 

And,  perhaps,  we  may  see  a  further  reason  for  the  appar- 
ent withdrawal  of  the  Pharisees  from  all  active  co-operation 
in  the  steps  which  accompanied  the  condemnation  and 
execution  of  Jesus,  not  only  in  the  superior  mildness  which 
is  attributed  to  them,  and  in  their  comparative  insignifi- 
cance in  the  civil  administration,  but  also  in  their  total 
want  of  sympathy  with  those  into  whose  too  fatal  toils  they 
liad  delivered  the  Son  of  God.  There  seems,  indeed,  to  be 
a  hitherto  unnoticed  circumstance  which,  while  it  would 
kindle  to  the  higliest  degree  the  fury  of  the  Sadducees, 
would  rather  enlist  in  Christ's  favor  the  sympathy  of  their 
rivals.  What  had  roused  the  disdainful  insouciance  of 
these  powerful  aristocrats?  Morally  insignificant — the 
patrons  and  adherents  of  opinions  which  had  so  little  hold 
upon  the  people  that  Jesus  had  never  directed  against  them 
one  tithe  of  the  stern  denunciation  which  he  had  leveled 
at  the  Pharisees — they  had  played  but  a  very  minor  part  in 
the  opposition  which  had  sprung  up  round  the  Messiah's 
steps.  Nay,  further  than  this,  they  would  be  wholly  at 
one  with  Him  in  rejecting  and  discountenancing  the 
minute  and  casuistical  frivolities  of  the  Oral  Law ;  they 
might  even  have  rejoiced  tliat  tliey  had  in  Him  a  holy  and 
irresistible  ally  in  their  opposition  to  ail  the  HagaiUth  and 
Halachoth  which  had  germinated  iu  a  fungous  growth  over 
the  whole  body  of  the  Mosaic  institutions.  Whence,  then, 
this  sudden  outburst  of  the  very  deadliest  and  most  ruth- 
less opposition  ?  It  is  a  conjecture  that  has  not  yet  been 
made,  but  which  the  notices  of  the  Talmud  bring  home  to 


1 


JESUS  BEFORE  THE  PRIESTS.  459 

my  mind  with  strong  conviction,  that  the  rage  of  these 
priests  was  mainly  due  to  our  Lord's  words  and  acts  con- 
cerning that  House  of  God  which  they  regarded  as  their 
exchisive  domain,  and,  above  all,  to  His  second  public 
cleansing  of  the  Temple.  They  could  not  indeed  ;jress 
this  point  in  their  accusations,  because  the  act  was  one  of 
which,  secretly  at  least,  the  Pharisees,  in  all  probability, 
heartily  approved;  and  had  they  urged  it  against  Him  they 
would  have  lost  all  chance  of  impressing  upon  Pilate  a  sense 
of  their  unanimity.  The  first  cleansing  might  have  been 
passed  over  as  an  isolated  act  of  zeal,  to  which  little  im- 
portance need  be  attached,  while  the  teaching  of  Jesus  was 
mainly  confined  to  despised  and  far-ofi:  Galilee  ;  but  the 
second  had  been  more  public,  and  more  veheinent,  and  had 
apparently  kindled  a  more  general  indignation  against  the 
gross  abuse  which  called  it  forth.  Accordingly,  in  all 
three  Evangelists  we  find  that  those  who  complained  of  the 
act  are  not  distinctively  Pharisees,  but  "  Chief  Priests  and 
Scribes"  (Matt.  xxi.  15;  Mark  xi.  18;  Luke  xix.  47),  who 
seem  at  once  to  have  derived  from  it  a  fresh  stimulus  to 
seek  His  destruction. 

But,  again,  it  may  be  asked.  Is  there  any  reason  beyond 
this  bold  infraction  of  their  authority,  this  indignant  re- 
pudiation of  an  arrangement  which  they  had  sanctioned, 
which  would  have  stirred  up  the  rage  of  tiiese  priestly  fam- 
ilies? Yes — for  we  may  assume  from  the  Talmud  that  it 
tended  to  luoiind  their  avarice,  to  interfere  loith  their  illicit 
and  greedy  gains.  Avarice — the  besetting  sin  of  Judas — 
the  besetting  sin  of  the  Jewish  race — seems  also  to  have 
been  the  besetting  sin  of  the  family  of  Hanan.  It  was 
they  who  had  founded  the  channjoth — the  famous  four 
shops  under  the  twin  cedars  of  Olivet— in  which  were  sold 
things  legally  pure,  and  which  they  had  manipulated  with 
such  commercial  cunning  as  artificially  to  raise  the  price 
of  doves  to  a  gold  coin  apiece,  until  the  people  were 
delivered  from  this  gross  imposition  by  the  indignant 
interference  of  a  grandson  of  Ilillel.  There  is  every  reason 
to  believe  that  the  shops  which  had  intruded  even  under 
the  Temple  porticoes  were  not  only  sanctioned  by  their 
authority,  but  even  managed  for  their  profit.  To  inter- 
fere with  these  was  to  rob  them  of  one  important  source 
of  that  wealth  and  worldly  comfort  to  which  they  attached 


460  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

such  extravagant  importance.  There  was  good  reason  why 
Hanan,  the  liead  representative  of  "  the  viper  brood/'  as  a 
Tahnudic  writer  calls  them,  should  strain  to  the  ntmost 
his  cruel  prerogative  of  power  to  crush  a  Prophet  whose 
actions  tended  to  make  him  and  his  powerful  family  at 
once  wholly  contemptible  and  comparatively  poor. 

Such  then  were  the  feelings  of  bitter  contempt  and 
hatred  with  which  the  ex-High  Priest  assumed  the 
initiative  in  interrogating  Jesus.  The  fact  that  he  dared 
not  avow  them  —  nay,  was  forced  to  keep  them  wholly  out 
of  sight  —  would  only  add  to  the  intensity  of  his  bittei-ness. 
Even  his  method  of  procedure  seems  to  have  been  as 
wholly  illegal  as  was  his  assumi)tion,  in  such  a  place  and 
at  such  an  hour,  of  any  legal  function  whatever.  Anxious, 
at  all  hazards,  to  trump  up  some  available  charge  of  secret 
sedition,  or  of  unorthodox  teaching,  he  questioned  Jesus 
of  His  disciples  and  of  His  doctrine.  The  answer,  for  all 
its  calmness,  involved  a  deep  reproof.  "/  have  spoken 
openly  to  the  world  ;  /ever  taught  in  the  synagogue  and 
in  the  Temple,  where  all  the  Jews  come  together,  and  in 
secret  I  said  nothing.  Why  askest  thou  me?  Ask  those 
who  have  heard  me  what  I  said  to  them.  Lo  !  these" 
— pointing,  perhaps,  to  the  by-standers — "  know  what  / 
said  to  them."  The  emphatic  repetition  of  the  "'I,"  and 
its  unusually  significant  position  at  tlie  end  of  the 
sentence,  show  that  a  contrast  was  intended  ;  as  though 
He  had  said,  ''This  midnight,  this  sedition,  this  secrecy, 
this  indecent  mockery  of  justice,  are  yours,  not  viine. 
There  has  never  been  anything  esoteric  in  my  doctrine  ; 
never  anything  to  conceal  in  my  actions  ;  no  hole-and- 
corner  plots  among  my  followers.  But  thou?  and  thine?" 
Even  the  minions  of  Annas  felt  the  false  position  of  their 
master  under  this  calm  rebuke  ;  they  felt  that  before  the 
transparent  innocence  of  the  youthful  Rabbi  of  Nazareth 
the  hoary  hypocrisy  of  the  crafty  Sadducee  was  abashed. 
"  Answerest  thou  "the  High  Priest  so?"  said  one  of  them 
with  a  burst  of  illegal  insolence  ;  and  then,  unreproved  by 
this  priestly  violator  of  justice,  he  profaned  with  the  first 
infamous  blow  the  sacred  face  of  Christ.  Then  first  that 
face  which,  as  the  poet-preacher  says,  "the  angels  stare 
upon  with  wonder  as  infants  at  a  bright  sunbeam,"  was 
smitten  by  a  contemptible  slave.     The  insult  was  borne 


JESUS  BEFORE  TEE  PRIESTS.  461 

with  noble  meekness.  Even  St.  Paul,  when  similarly 
insulted,  flaming  into  sudden  anger  at  such  a  grossly 
illegal  violence,  had  scathed  the  ruffian  and  his  abettor 
with  "•'  God  shall  smite  thee,  thou  whited  wall "  (Acts 
xxiii.  3) ;  but  He,  the  Son  of  God — He  who  was  infinitely 
above  all  apostles  and  all  angels — with  no  flash  of  anger, 
Avith  no  heightened  to7ie  of  natural  indignation,  quietly 
reproved  the  impudent  transgressor  with  the  words,  *'  If  I 
spoke  evil,  bear  witness  concerning  the  evil;  but  if  well, 
why  smitest  thou  me?"  It  was  clear  that  nothing  more 
could  be  extorted  from  Him  ;  that  before  such  a  tribunal 
He  would  brook  no  further  question.  Bound,  in  sign  that 
He  was  to  be  condemned — though  nnheard  and  nn- 
sentenced — Annas  sent  Him  across  the  court-yard  to 
Joseph  Caiaphas,  his  son-in-law,  who,  not  by  the  grace  of 
God,  but  by  the  grace  of  the  Eoman  Procurator,  was  the 
titular  High  Priest. 

ii.  Caiaphas,  like  his  father-in-law,  was  a  Sadducee — 
equally  astute  and  unscrupulous  with  Annas,  but  endowed 
with  less  force  of  character  and  will.  h\  his  house  took 
place  the  second  private  and  irregular  stage  of  the  trial. 
(Matt.  xxvi.  59-68;  Mark  xiv.  55-65.)  There  — for 
though  the  poor  Apostles  could  not  watch  for  one  hour  in 
sympathetic  prayer,  these  nefarious  plotters  could  watch 
all  night  in  their  deadly  malice — a  few  of  the  most  desperate 
enemies  of  Jesus  among  the  Priests  and  Sadducees  were 
met.  To  form  a  session  of  the  Sanhedrin  there  must  at 
least  have  been  twenty-three  members  present.  And  we 
may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  conjecture  that  this  particular 
body  before  which  Christ  was  now  convened  was  mainly 
composed  of  Priests.  There  were  in  fact  three  Sanhedrins, 
or  as  we  should  rather  call  them,  committees  of  the 
Sanhedrin,  which  ordinarily  met  at  different  places — in 
the  Lislicat  HagyazzWi,  or  Paved  Hall ;  in  the  Beth  Mid- 
rash,  or  Chamber  by  the  Partition  of  the  Temple  ;  and 
near  the  Gate  of  the  Temple  Mount.  Such  being  the  case, 
it  is  no  unreasonable  supposition  that  these  committees 
were  composed  of  different  elements,  and  that  one  of  them 
may  have  been  mainly  sacerdotal  in  its  constitution.  If 
so,  it  would  have  been  the  most  likely  of  them  all,  at  the 
present  crisis,  to  embrace  the  most  violent  measures 
against  One  wliose  teaching  now  seemed  to  endanger  the 
very  existence  of  priestly  rule. 


463  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRrST. 

But,  whatever  may  have  been  the  nature  of  the  tribnnal 
over  which  Caiaphas  was  now  presiding,  it  is  clear  that  the 
Priests  were  forced  to  cliange  their  tactics.  Instead  of 
trying,  as  Ilanan  had  done,  to  overawe  and  entangle  Jesus 
with  insidious  questions,  and  so  to  involve  Him  in  a  charge 
of  secret  apostasy,  they  now  tried  to  brand  Him  with  the 
crime  of  public  error.  In  point  of  fact  their  own  bitter 
divisions  and  controversies  made  the  task  of  convicting  Him 
a  very  difficult  one.  If  they  dwelt  on  any  supposed  opposi- 
tion to  civil  authority,  that  would  rather  enlist  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  Pharisees  in  His  favor;  if  they  dwelt  on  supposed 
Sabbath  violations  or  neglect  of  traditional  observances, 
that  would  accord  with  the  views  of  the  Sadducees.  The  Sad- 
ducees  dared  not  complain  of  His  cleansing  of  the  Temple; 
the  Pharisees,  or  those  who  represented  them,  found  it 
useless  to  advert  to  His  denunciations  of  tradition.  But 
Jesus,  infinitely  nobler  than  His  own  noblest  Apostle, 
would  not  foment  these  latent  animosities,  or  evoke  for 
His  own  deliverance  a  contest  of  these  slumbering  preju- 
dices. He  did  not  disturb  the  temporary  compromise 
which  united  them  in  a  common  liatred  against  Himself. 
Since,  therefore,  they  had  nothing  else  to  go  npon,  the 
Chief  Priests  and  the  entire  Sanhedrin  "sought  false  ivit- 
ness" — such  is  the  terribly  simple  expression  of  the  Evan- 
gelists— "sought  false  witness  against  Jesus  to  put  Him  to 
death."  Many  men,  with  a  greedy,  unnatural  depravity, 
seeh  false  witness — mostly  of  the  petty,  ignoble,  malignant 
sort;  and  the  powers  of  evil  usually  supply  it  to  them. 
The  Talmud  seems  to  insinuate  that  the  custom,  which  they 
l^retend  was  the  general  one,  had  been  followed  in  the  case 
of  Christ,  and  that  two  witnesses  had  been  placed  in  conceal- 
ment, while  a  treacherous  disciple — ostensibly  Judas  Iscariot 
— had  obtained  from  His  own  lips  an  avowal  of  His  claims. 
This,  however,  is  no  less  false  than  the  utterly  absurd 
and  unchronological  assertion  of  the  tract  Sanhedrin,  that 
Jesus  had  been  excommunicated  by  Joshua  Ben  Perachiah, 
and  that  though  for  forty  days  a  herald  had  proclaimed 
that  he  had  brought  magic  from  Egypt  and  seduced  the 
])eople,  no  single  witness  came  forward  in  His  favor.  Set- 
ting aside  these  absurd  inventions,  we  learn  from  the 
Grospels  that  though  the  agents  of  these  priests  were  eager 
to  lie,  yet  their  testimony  was  so  false,  so  shadowy,  so  self- 


JESUS  Seforh:  the  priests.  463 

contradictory,  that  it  all  melted  to  nothing,  and  even  those 
unjust  and  bitter  judges  could  not  with  any  decency  accept 
it.  But  at  last  two  came  forward  whose  false  witness 
looked  more  promising.  They  had  heard  Him  say  some- 
thing about  destroying  the  Temj)le,  and  rebuilding  it  in 
three  days.  According  to  one  version  His  expression  had 
been,  "I  can  desfroi/  this  Tem'p]e;"  according  to  another, 
"  I  will  destroy  this  Temple."  The  fact  was  that  He  had 
said  neither,  but  ''Destroy  this  Temple;"  and  the  imjtera- 
tive  had  but  been  addressed,  hypothetically,  to  them.  They 
were  to  be  the  destroyers;  He  had  but  promised  to  rebuild. 
It  was  just  one  of  those  perjuries  which  was  all  the  more 
perjured  because  it  bore  some  distant  semblance  to  the 
truth;  and  by  just  giving  a  different  imnnce  to  His  actual 
words  they  had,  with  the  ingenuity  of  slander,  reversed 
their  meaning,  and  hoped  to  found  upon  them  a  charge  of 
constructive  blasphemy.  But  even  this  semblable  perjury 
utterly  broke  down,  and  Jesus  listened  in  silence  while 
His  disunited  enemies  hopelessly  confuted  each  other's  tes- 
timony. Guilt  often  breaks  into  excuses  where  perfect  in- 
nocence is  dumb.  He  simply  suffered  His  false  accusers 
and  their  false  listeners  to  entangle  themselves  in  the  hid- 
eous coil  of  their  own  malignant  lies,  and  the  silence  of 
the  innocent  Jesus  atoned  for  the  excuses  of  the  guilty 
Adam. 

But  that  majestic  silence  troubled,  thwarted,  confounded, 
maddened  them.  It  weighed  them  down  for  the  moment 
with  an  incubus  of  intolerable  self  condemnation.  They 
felt,  before  that  silence,  as  if  they  were  the  culprits.  He 
the  judge.  And  as  every  poisoned  arrow  of  their  carefully- 
provided  perjuries  fell  harmless  at  His  feet,  as  though 
blunted  on  the  diamond  shield  of  His  white  innocence,  they 
began  to  fear  lest,  after  all,  their  thirst  for  His  blood  would 
go  unslaked,  and  their  whole  plot  fail.  Were  they  thus  to 
be  conquered  by  the  feebleness  of  their  own  weapons,  with- 
out His  stirring  a  finger  or  uttering  a  word  ?  Was  this 
Prophet  of  Nazareth  to  prevail  against  them,  merely  for 
lack  of  a  few  consistent  lies?  Was  His  life  charmed  even 
against  calumny  confirmed  by  oaths?     It  was  intolerable. 

Then  Caiaphas  was  overcome  with  a  paroxysm  of  fear  and 
anger.  Starting  up  from  his  judgment-seat,  and  striding 
into  the  midst — with  what  a  voice,  with   what  an  attitude 


404  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRI8T. 

we  may  well  itiuigiue  ! — "  Answerest  Thou  nothing?" 
lie  exclaimed.  "  What  is  it  that  these  witness  against 
Thee?"  Had  not  Jesus  been  aware  that  these  His  judges 
were  willfully  feeding  on  ashes,  and  seeking  lies.  He  might 
have  answered;  but  now  His  awful  silence  remained  un- 
broken. 

Then,  reduced  to  utter  despair  and  fury,  this  false  High 
Priest — with  marvelous  inconsistency,  with  disgraceful 
illegality — still  standing  as  it  were  with  a  threatening 
attitude  over  his  prisoner,  exclaimed,  "I  adjure  Thee  by 
the  living  God  to  tell  us" — what?  whether  thou  art  a 
malefactor  ?  whether  Thou  hast  secretly  taught  sedition  ? 
whether  Tliou  hast  openly  uttered  blasphemy  ? — no,  but 
(and  surely  the  question  sliowed  the  dread  misgiving 
Avhich  lay  under  all  their  deadly  conspiracy  against  Him) 
"  WHETHER  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God  ?" 

Strange  question  to  a  bound,  defenseless,  condemned 
criminal  :  and  strange  question  from  such  a  questioner — a 
High  Priest  of  His  people  !  Straiige  question  from  the 
judge  who  was  hounding  on  his  false  witnesses  against  the 
prisoner  !  Yet  so  adjured,  and  to  such  a  question,  Jesus 
could  not  be  silent ;  on  such  a  point  He  could  not  leave 
Himself  open  to  misinterpretation.  In  the  days  of  His 
happier  ministry,  when  they  would  have  taken  Him  by 
force  to  make  Him  a  King — in  the  days  when  to  claim  the 
Messiahship  in  their  sense  would  have  been  to  meet  all 
their  passionate  prejudices  half  way,  and  to  place  IHmself 
upon  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  their  adoring  homage — in 
those  days  He  had  kept  His  title  of  Messiah  utterly  in  the 
background:  but  now,  at  this  awful  decisive  moment,  when 
death  was  near — when,  humanly  speaking,  nothing  could 
be  gained,  everything  must  be  lost,  by  the  avowal — there 
thrilled  through  all  the  ages  —  thrilled  through  that 
Eternity,  which  is  the  synchronism  of  all  the  future,  and 
all  the  present,  and  all  the  j^ast  —  the  solemn  answer — 
"  I  AM  ;  and  ye  shall  see  the  So7i  of  Man  sitting  on  the 
right  hand  of  power,  and  coming  with  the  clouds  of  heaven." 
In  that  answer  the  thunder  rolled — a  thunder  louder  than 
at  Sinai,  though  the  ears  of  the  cynic  and  the  Sadducee 
heard  it  not  then,  nor  hear  it  now.  In  overacted  and 
ill-omened  horror,  the  unjust  judge  who  had  thus  supple- 
mented the  failure  of  the  perjiii'ies  which  he   had  vainly 


2 HE  INTERVAL  BETWEEN  THE  TRIALS.         465 

sought  —  the  false  High  Priest  rending  liis  linen  robes 
before  the  True — demanded  of  the  assembly  His  instant 
condemnation. 

"Blasphemy!"  he  exclaimed;  ''wliat  further  need 
have  we  of  witnesses  ?  See,  now  ye  heard  his  blasphemy  ! 
What  is  your  decision  ?"  And  with  the  confused  tumultu- 
ous cry,  *'  He  i&ish  marveth,"  "  A  man  of  death/'  "Guilty 
of  death,"  the  dark  conclave  was  broken  up,  and  the 
second  stage  of  the  trial  of  Jesus  was  over. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE   INTERVAL  BETWEEN^   THE   TRIALS. 

And  this  was  how  the  Jews  at  last  received  their  prom- 
ised Messiah — longed  for  with  passionate  hopes  during 
two  thousand  years  ;  since  then  regretted  in  bitter  agony 
for  weli-nigh  two  thousand  more  !  From  this  moment  He 
was  regarded  by  all  the  apparitors  of  the  Jewish  Court  as 
a  heretic,  liable  to  death  by  stoning  ;  aiul  was  only  re- 
manded into  custody  to  be  kept  till  break  of  day,  because 
by  daylight  only,  and  in  the  Lislicat  Hmjfjazzith,  or  Hull 
of  Judgment,  and  only  by  a  full  session  of  the  entire 
Sanhedrin,  could  He  be  legally  condemned.  x\nd  since 
now  they  looked  upon  Him  as  a  "  fit  person  to  be  insulted 
with  impunity.  He  was  hauled  through  tlie  court-yard  to 
the  guard-room  with  blows  and  curses,  in  which  it  may 
be  that  not  only  the  attendant  menials,  but  even  the  cold 
but  now  infuriated  Sadducees  took  their  sliare.  It  was 
now  long  past  midnight,  and  the  spring  air  was  then  most 
chilly.  In  the  center  of  the  court  the  servants  of  the 
priests  were  warming  tliemselves  under  the  frosty  star- 
light as  they  stood  round  a  fire  of  coals.  And  as  he  was 
led  past  that  fire  He  heard  —  what  was  to  Him  a  more 
deadly  bitterness  than  any  which  His,  bimtal  persecutors 
could  pour  into  His  cup  of  anguish — lie  lieard  His  boldest 
Apostle  denying  Him  with  oaths. 

For  during  these  two  sad  hours  of  His  commencing 
tragedy,  as  He  stood  in  the  Halls  of  Annas  and  of 
Caiaphas,  another  moral  tragedy,  which  He  had  already 
prophesied,  had  been  taking  place  in  the  otlier  court. 


466  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

As  far  as  we  can  infer  from  the  various  narratives,  the 
paLace  in  Jerusalem,  conjointly  occupied  by  Annas  the 
real,  and  Caiaphas  the  titular  lligh  Priest,  seems  to  have 
been  built  round  a  square  court,  and  entered  by  an  arched 
passage  or  vestibule  ;  and  on  the  further  side  of  it,  prob- 
ably up  a  short  flight  of  steps,  was  the  hall  in  which  the 
committee  of  the  Sanhedrin  had  met.  Timidly,  and  at  a 
distance,  two  only  of  the  Apostles  had  so  far  recovered 
from  their  first  jmnic  as  to  follow  far  in  the  rear  of  the 
melancholy  procession.  One  of  these — the  beloved  disciple 
— known  perhaps  to  the  High  Priest's  household  as  a  young 
fisherman  of  the  lake  of  Galilee — had  found  ready  admit- 
tance, with  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  sympathies  or  his 
identity.  Not  so  tiie  other.  Unknown,  and  a  Galilaean,  he 
had  been  stopped  at  the  door  by  the  youthful  portress. 
Better,  far  better,  had  his  exclusion  been  final.  For  it 
was  a  night  of  tumult,  of  terror,  of  suspicion  ;  and  Peter 
was  weak,  and  his  intense  love  was  mixed  with  fear,  and 
yet  he  was  venturing  into  the  very  thick  of  his  most  dan- 
gerous enemies.  But  John,  regretting  that  he  should  be 
debarred  from  entrance,  and  judging  perhaps  of  his  friend's 
firmness  by  his  own,  exerted  his  influence  to  obtain  admis- 
sion for  him.  With  bold  imprudence,  and  concealing  the 
better  motives  which  had  brought  him  thither,  Peter, 
warned  though  he  had  been,  but  warned  in  vain,  walked 
into  the  court  yard,  and  sat  down  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
servants  of  the  very  men  before  whom  at  that  moment  his 
Lord  was  being  arraigned  on  a  charge  of  death.  Tlie 
]3ortress,  after  the  admission  of  those  concerned  in  the 
capture,  seems  to  have  been  relieved  (as  was  only  natural 
at  that  late  hour)  by  another  maid,  and  advancing  to  the 
group  of  her  fellow-servants,  she  fixed  a  curious  and  earnest 
gaze  on  the  dubious  stranger  as  he  sat  full  in  the  red  glare 
of  the  firelight,  and  then,  with  a  flash  of  recognition,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  you,  as  well  as  the  other,  were  with 
Jesus  of  Galilee."  Peter  was  off  his  guard.  At  this 
2)eriod  of  life  his  easy  impressionable  nature  was  ever  liable 
to  be  molded  by  the  influence  of  the  moment,  and  he 
passed  readily  into  passionate  extremes.  Long,  long  after- 
ward, we  find  a  wliolly  unexpected  confirmation  of  the 
probability  of  this  sad  episode  of  his  life,  in  the  readiness 
with  which  he  lent  himself  to  the  views  of  the  Apostle  of 


THE  INTERVAL  BETWEEN  THE  TRIALS.        4G7 

the  Gentiles,  and  the  equal  facilit}^  with  which  a  false 
shame,  and  a  fear  of  '"them  which  were  of  the  circum- 
cision," made  him  swerve  into  the  wrong  and  narrow  prop- 
erties of  "  certain  which  came  from  James."  And  thus  it 
was  that  the  mere  curious  question  of  an  inquisitve  young 
girl  startled  him  by  its  very  suddenness  into  a  quick  denial 
of  his  Lord.  Doubtless,  at  the  moment,  it  presented  itself 
to  him  as  a  mere  prudent  evasion  of  needless  danger.  But 
did  he  hope  to  stop  there?  Alas,  "once  denied"  is 
always  "  thrice  denied;"  and  the  sudden  ''manslaughter 
upon  truth  "  always,  and  rapidly,  develops  into  its  utter 
and  deliberate  murder;  and  a  lie  is  like  a  stone  set  rolling 
upon  a  mountain-side,  which  is  instantly  beyond  its  utter- 
er's  control. 

For  a  moment,  perhaps,  his  denial  was  accepted,  for  it 
had  been  very  public,  and  very  emphatic.  But  it  warned 
him  of  his  danger.  Guiltily  he  slinks  away  again«from  the 
glowing  brazier  to  the  arched  entrance  of  the  court,  as  the 
crowing  of  a  cock  smote,  not  quite  unheeded,  on  his 
guilty  ear.  His  respite  was  very  short.  The  portress  — 
part  of  whose  duty  it  was  to  draw  attention  to  dubious 
strangers  —  had  evidently  gossiped  about  him  to  the  serv- 
ant who  had  relieved  her  in  charge  of  the  door.  Some 
other  idlers  were  standing  about,  and  this  second  maid 
pointed  him  out  to  them  as  having  certainly  been  with 
Jesus  of  Nazareth.  A  lie  seemed  more  than  ever  necessary 
now,  and  to  secure  himself  from  all  further  molestation  he 
even  confirmed  it  with  an  oath.  But  now  flight  seemed 
impossible,  for  it  would  only  confirm  suspicion;  so  with 
desperate  gloomy  resolution  he  once  more  —  with  feelings 
which  can  barely  be  inuigined — joined  the  unfriendly  and 
suspicious  group  who  were  standing  round  the  fire. 

A  whole  hour  passed  :  for  him  it  must  have  been  a  fear- 
ful hour,  and  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  tempera- 
ment of  Peter  was  far  too  nervous  and  vehement  to  suffer 
liim  to  feel  at  ease  under  this  new  complication  of  ingrati- 
tude and  falsehood.  If  he  remain  silent  among  these 
priestly  servitors,  he  is  betrayed  by  the  restless  self-con- 
sciousness of  an  evil  secret  which  tries  in  vain  to  simulate 
indifference;  if  he  brazoTi  it  out  with  careless  talk,  he  is 
fatally  betrayed  by  his  (}alik«an  burr.  It  is  evident  that, 
in  spite  of  denial  and  of  oath,  they  wholly  distrust  and 


4G8  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

despise  liiin;  and  at  last  one  of  the  High  Priest's  servants 
— a  kinsman  of  the  wounded  Malchns — ouce  more  strongly 
and  eonlidently  charged  liim  with  having  been  witli  Jesus 
in  the  garden,  taunting  liiin,  in  proof  of  it,  with  the  mis- 
placed gutturals  of  his  provincial  dialect.  The  others 
joined  in  the  accusation.  Unless  he  persisted,  all  was  lost 
which  might  seem  to  have  been  gained.  Perhaps  one  more 
effort  would  set  him  quite  free  from  these  troublesome 
charges,  and  enable  him  to  wait  and  see  the  end.  Pressed 
closer  and  closer  by  the  sneering,  threatening  band  of  idle 
servitors — sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  mire  of  faith- 
lessness and  fear — '''then  began  he  to  curse  and  to  swear, 
saying,  1  know  not  the  man."  And  at  that  fatal  moment 
of  guilt,  which  might  well  have  been  for  him  the  moment 
of  an  apostasy  as  fatid  and  final  as  had  been  that  of  his 
brother  Apostle — at  that  fatal  moment,  while  those  shame- 
less curses  still  quivered  on  the  air  —  first  the  cock  crew  in 
the  cold  gray  dusk,  and  at  the  same  moment,  catching  the 
last  accents  of  those  perjured  oaths,  either  through  the 
open  portal  of  the  judgment-hall,  or  as  He  was  led  past 
the  group  at  the  fireside  through  the  open  court,  with  rude 
pushing  and  ribald  jeers,  and  blows  and  spitting — the 
Lord — the  Lord  in  the  agony  of  His  humiliation,  in  the 
majesty  of  His  silence  —  "the  Lord  turned  and  looked 
iiyon  Peter."  Blessed  are  those  on  whom,  when  He  looks 
in  sorrow,  the  Lord  looks  also  with  love!  It  was  enough. 
Like  ail  arrow  through  his  inmost  soul  shot  the  mute, 
eloquent  anguish  of  that  reproachful  glance.  As  the  sun- 
beam smites  the  last  hold  of  snow  upon  the  rock,  ere  it 
rushes  in  avalanche  down  the  tormented  hill,  so  the  false 
self  of  the  fallen  Apostle  slipped  away.  It  was  enough  : 
"  he  saw  no  more  enemies,  he  knew  no  more  danger, 
he  feared  no  more  death."  Flinging  the  fold  of  his 
mantle  over  his  head,  he  too,  like  Judas,  rushed  fortii  into 
the  night.  Into  the  night,  but  not  as  Judas  ;  into  tlie 
unsunned  outer  darkness  of  miserable  self-condemnation, 
but  not  into  the  midnight  of  remorse  and  of  despair  ;  into 
the  night,  but,  as  has  been  beautifully  said,  it  was  "to 
meet  the  morning  dawn."  If  the  angel  of  Innocence  had 
left  him,  the  angel  of  Repentance  took  him  gently  by  the 
hand.  Sternly,  yet  tenderly,  the  spirit  of  grace  led  up 
this  broken-hearted  penitent  before  the  tribunal  of    his 


THE  INTER  VAL  BETWEEN  THE  TRIALS.         469 

own  conscience,  and  there  his  old  life,  his  old  shame,  his 
old  weakness,  his  old  self,  was  doomed  to  that  death  of 
godly  sorrow  which  was  to  issue  in  a  new  and  nobler 
birth. 

And  it  was  this  crime,  committed  against  Him  by  the 
man  who  had  first  proclaimed  Him  as  the  Christ — who  had 
come  to  Him  over  the  stormy  water — who  had  drawn  the 
sword  for  Him  in  Gethsemane  —  who  had  affirmed  so 
indignantly  that  He  would  die  with  Him  rather  than 
deny  Him  —  it  was  this  denial,  confirmed  by  curses, 
that  Jesus  heard  immediately  after  He  had  been  con- 
demned to  death,  and  at  the  very  commencement 
of  His  first  terrible  derision.  Yov,  in  the  guard-room 
to  which  He  was  remanded  to  await  the  break  of 
day,  all  the  ignorant  malice  of  religious  hatred,  all  the 
itarrow  vulgarity  of  brutal  spite,  all  the  cold  innate 
cruelty  which  lurks  under  the  abjectness  of  Oriental 
servility,  was  let  loose  against  Him.  His  very  meekness, 
His  very  silence,  His  very  majesty —  the  very  stainlessness 
of  His  innocence,  the  very  grandeur  of  His  fame— every 
divine  circumstance  and  quality  which  raised  Him  to  a 
height  so  infinitely  immeasurable  above  His  persecutors  — 
all  these  made  Him  an  all  the  more  welcome  victim  for 
their  low  and  devilish  ferocity.  They  spat  in  His  face  ; 
they  smote  Him  with  rods;  they  struck  Him  with  their 
closed  fists  and  with  their  open  palms.  In  the  fertility  of 
their  furious  and  hateful  insolence,  they  invented  against 
Him  a  sort  of  game.  Blindfolding  His  eyes,  they  hit 
Him  again  and  again,  with  the  repeated  question,  "  Proph- 
esy to  us,  0  Messiah,  who  it  is  that  smote  thee."  So 
they  whiled  away  the  dark  cold  hours  till  the  morning,  re- 
venging themselves  upon  His  impassive  innocence  for 
their  own  present  vileness  and  previous  terror  ;  and  there, 
in  the  midst  of  that  savage  and  wanton  varletry,  the  Son 
of  God,  bound  and  blindfold,  stood  in  His  long  and  silent 
agony,  defenceless  and  flone.  It  was  His  first  derision — 
His  derision  as  the  Christ,  the  Judge  attainted,  the  Holy 
One  a  criminal,  the  Deliverer  in  bonds. 

iii.  At  last  the  miserable  lingering  hours  were  over,  and 
the  gray  dawn  sliuddcred,  and  tlie  morning  blushed  upon 
that  memorable  day.  And  with  the  earliest  dawn — for  so 
the  Oral  Law  ordained,  and  they  who  could  trample  on  all 


470  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

justice  and  all  mercy  were  yet  scrupulous  about  all  the  in- 
finitely little — Jesus  was  led  into  the  Lislicat  Haggazzith, 
or  Paved  Hall  at  the  south-east  of  the  Temple,  or  perhaps 
into  the  cliannjoth,  or  "  Siiops,"  which  owed  their  very 
existence  to  Hanan  and  his  family,  Avhere  the  Sanhedrin 
had  been  summoned,  for  His  third  trial,  but  His  first 
formal  and  legal  trial  (Luke  xxii.  G6-71).  It  was  now 
probably  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  a  full 
session  met.  Well-nigh  all  —  for  there  were  the  noble  ex- 
ceptions at  least  of  J^icodemus  and  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea, 
and  we  may  hope  also  of  Gamaliel,  the  grandson  of  Hillel 
—  were  inexorably  bent  upon  His  death.  The  Priests  were 
there,  Avhose  greed  and  selfishness  He  had  reproved  ;  the 
Elders,  whose  hypocrisy  He  had  branded  ;  the  Scribes, 
whose  ignorance  He  had  exposed  ;  and,  worse  than  all,  the 
worldly,  sceptical,  would-be  philosophic  Saddncees,  always 
the  most  cruel  and  dangerous  of  opponents,  whose  empty 
sapience  He  had  so  grievously  confuted.  All  these  were 
bent  upon  His  death  ;  all  filled  with  repulsion  at  that  in- 
finite goodness  ;  all  buriung  with  hatred  against  a  nobler 
nature  than  any  which  tliey  could  even  conceive  in  tlieir 
loftiest  dreams.  And  yet  their  task  in  trying  to  achieve 
His  destruction  was  not  easy.  The  Jewish  fables  of  His 
death  in  the  Talmud,  which  are  shamelessly  false  from 
beginning  to  end,  say  that  for  forty  days,  though  sum- 
moned daily  by  heraldic  proclamation,  not  one  person 
came  forward,  according  to  custom,  to  maintain  His 
innocence,  and  that  consequently  He  was  first  stoned  as  a 
seducer  of  the  people  (mcsifh),  aiul  then  hung  on  the 
accursed  tree.  The  fact  was  that  the  San  lied  rists  had  not 
the  power  of  inflicting  death,  and  even  if  the  Pharisees 
would  have  ventured  to  usurp  it  in  a  tumultuary  sedition, 
as  they  afterward  did  in  the  case  of  Stephen,  the  less 
fanatic  and  more  cosmopolitan  Saddncees  would  be  less 
likely  to  do  so.  Not  content,  therefore,  with  the  cherem, 
or  ban  of  greater  excommunication,  their  only  way  to 
compass  His  death  was  to  haiul  Him  o\n-  to  the  secular 
arm.  At  present  they  had  oidy  against  Him  a  charge  of 
constructive  blasphemy,  founded  on  :i.n  admission  forced 
from  Him  by  the  High  Priest,  when  even  their  own 
suborned  witnesses  had  failed  to  porjui-e  themselves  to 
their  satisfaction.    There  were  manv  old  accusations  against 


THE  INTKRVAL  BETWEEN  THE  TRIALS.         471 

Him  on  which  they  could  not  rely.  His  vioLitions  of  the 
Sabbath,  as  they  called  them,,  were  all  connected  with  mira- 
cles, and  brought  them,  therefore,  upon  dangerous  ground. 
His  rejection  of  oral  tradition  involved  a  question  on  which 
Sadducees  and  Pharisees  were  at  deadly  feud.  His  author- 
itative cleansing  of  the  Temple  might  be  regarded  with 
favor  both  by  the  Rabbis  and  the  people.  The  charge  of 
esoteric  evil  doctrines  had  been  refuted  by  the  utter  pub- 
licity of  His  life.  The  charge  of  open  heresies  had  broken 
down,  from  the  total  absence  of  supporting  testimony. 
The  problem  before  them  was  to  convert  the  ecclesiastical 
charge  of  constructive  blasphemy  into  a  civil  charge  of 
constructive  treason.  But  how  could  this  be  done  ? 
Not  half  the  members  of  the  Sanhedrin  had  been 
present  at  the  hurried,  nocturnal,  and  therefore  illegal, 
session  in  the  house  of  Caiaphas  ;  yet  if  they  were  all  to 
condemn  Him  by  a  formal  sentence,  they  must  all  hear 
something  on  which  to  found  their  vote.  In  answer  to  the 
adjuration  of  Caiaphas,  He  had  solemnly  admitted  that  He 
was  the  Messiah  and  the  Son  of  God.  The  latter  declara- 
tion would  have  been  meaningless  as  a  charge  against  Him 
before  the  tribunal  of  the  Romans;  but  if  He  would  repeat 
the  former,  they  might  twist  it  into  something  politically 
seditious.  But  He  would  not  repeat  it,  in  spite  of  their 
insistence,  because  He  knew  that  it  was  open  to  their  will- 
ful misinterpretation,  and  because  they  were  evidently  act- 
ing ill  flagrant  violation  of  their  own  express  rules  and  tra- 
ditions, which  demanded  that  every  arraigned  criminal 
should  be  regarded  and  treated  as  innocent  until  his  guilt 
was  actually  proved. 

Perhaps,  as  they  sat  there  with  their  King,  bound  and 
helpless  before  them,  standing  silent  amid  their  clamorous 
voices,  one  or  two  of  their  most  venerable  members  may 
have  recalled  the  very  different  scene  when  Shemaia 
(Sameas)  alone  had  broken  tlie  deep  silence  of  tiieir  own 
cowardly  terroi'  upon  their  being  convened  to  pass  judgment 
on  Herod  for  his  murders.  On  that  occasion,  as  Sameas 
had  pointed  out,  Herod  had  stood  before  them,  not  "  in  a 
submissive  manner,  with  his  hair  dishevelled,  and  in  a 
black  and  mourning  garment,"  but  "  clothed  in  purple, 
and  witii  the  hair  of  his  head  finely  trimmed,  and  with  his 
armed  men  about  him."     And  since  no  one  dared,  for  very 


472  ?'^^  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

feav,  even  to  mention  the  charges  against  him,  Shemaia 
had  prophesied  that  the  day  of  vengeance  should  come, 
and  that  tlie  very  Herod  before  wliom  they  and  their  prince 
Hyrcanus  were  trembling,  would  one  day  be  the  minister 
of  God's  anger  against  both  him  and  them.  What  a  contrast 
was  the  present  scene  with  that  former  one  of  half  a  cen- 
tury before!  Now  they  were  clamorous,  their  King  was 
silent ;  they  were  powerful,  tlieir  King  defenceless;  they 
guilty,  their  King  divinely  innocent;  they  the  ministers  of 
earthly  wrath,  tlieir  King  the  arbiter  of  Divine  retribution. 

But  at  last,  to  end  a  scene  at  once  miserable  and  dis- 
graceful, Jesus  spoke.  "If  I  tell  you,"  He  said,  "ye  will 
not  believe  :  and  if  I  ask  you  a  question,  you  will  not 
answer  me.*'  Still,  lest  they  should  have  any  excuse  for 
failing  to  understand  who  He  was,  lie  added  in  tones  of 
solemn  warning,  "But  henceforth  shall  the  Son  of  Man  sit 
on  the  right  hand  of  the  power  of  God."  "Art  thou 
then,"  they  all  exclaimed,  "the  Son  of  God?"  "Ye  say 
that  I  am,"  He  answei-ed,  in  a  formula  with  which  they 
were  familiar,  and  of  which  they  undei'stood  the  full  sig- 
nificance. And  then  they  too  cried  out,  as  Caiaphas  had 
done  before,  "What  further  need  have  we  of  witness?  for 
Ave  ourselves  heard  from  His  own  mouth."  And  so  in  this 
third  condemnation  by  Jewish  authority — a  condemnation 
which  they  thought  that  Pilate  would  simply  ratify,  and  so 
appease  their  burning  hate — ended  the  third  stage  of  the 
trial  of  our  Lord.  And  this  sentence  also  seems  to  have 
been  followed  by  a  second  derision  resembling  the  first,  but 
even  more  full  of  insult,  and  worse  to  bear  than  the  former, 
inasmuch  as  the  derision  of  Priests,  and  Elders,  and  Sad- 
ducees  is  even  more  rejiulsively  odious  than  that  of  menials 
and  knaves. 

Terribly  soon  did  the  Nemesis  fall  on  the  main  actor  in 
the  lower  stages  of  this  iniquity.  Doubtless  through  all 
those  hours  Judas  had  been  a  secure  spectator  of  all  that 
had  occurred,  and  when  the  inorning  dawned  upon  that 
chilly  night,  and  he  knew  the  decision  of  the  Priests  and 
of  the  Sanhedrin,  and  saw  that  Jesus  was  now  given 
over  for  crucifixion  to  the  Roman  Governor,  then  he  began 
fully  to  realize  all  that  he  had  done.  There  is  in  a  great 
crime  an  awfully  illuminating  power.  It  lights  up  the  the- 
ater of  the  conscience  with  an  unnatural  glare,  and,  expell- 


THE  INTER  VAL  BETWEEN  THE  TRIALS.         473 

ing  the  twilight  glamor  of  self-interest,  shows  the  actions 
and  motives  in  their  full  and  true  aspect.  In  Judas., 
as  in  so  many  thousands  before  and  since,  this  opening  of 
the  eyes  which  follows  the  consummation  of  an  awful  sin 
to  which  many  other  sins  have  led,  drove  iiimfrom  remorse 
to  despair,  from  despair  to  madness,  from  madness  to 
suicide.  Had  he,  even  then,  but  gone  to  his  Lord  and 
Saviour,  and  prostrated  himself  at  His  feet  to  implore  for- 
giveness, all  might  have  been  well.  But,  alas  !  he  went 
instead  to  the  patrons  and  associates  and  tempters  of  his 
crime.  From  them  he  met  with  no  pity,  no  counsel.  He 
was  a  despised  and  broken  instrument,  and  now  he  was 
tossed  aside.  They  met  his  maddening  remorse  with  chilly 
indifference  and  callous  contempt.  "  I  have  sinned,"  he 
slirieked  to  them,  "in  that  I  have  betrayed  innocent 
blood.'"'  Did  he  expect  them  to  console  his  remorseful 
agony,  to  share  the  blame  of  his  guilt,  to  excuse  and  con- 
sole tiim  with  their  lofty  dignity  ?  "  Wliat  is  that  to  us  ? 
See  thou  to  that,"  was  tlie  sole  and  heartless  reply  they 
deigned  to  tiie  poor  traitor  whom  they  had  encouraged, 
welcomed,  incited  to  his  deed  of  infamy.  He  felt  that  he 
was  of  no  importance  any  longer;  that  in  guilt  there  is  no 
possibility  for  mutual  respect,  no  basis  for  any  feeling  but 
mutual  aLhorrence.  His  paltry  thirty  pieces  of  silver  were 
all  that  he  would  get.  For  these  he  had  sold  his  soul;  and 
these  he  should  no  more  enjoy  than  Achan  enjoyed  the 
gold  he  buried,  or  Ahab  the  garden  he  had  seized.  Fling- 
ing them  wildly  down  upon  the  pavement  into  the  holy 
place  where  tlie  priests  sat,  and  into  which  he  might  not 
enter,  he  hurried  into  the  despairing  solitude  from  which 
lie  would  never  emerge  alive.  In  that  solitude,  we  may 
never  know  what  "unclean  wings"  were  flapping  about 
his  head.  Accounts  differed  as  to  the  wretch's  death.  The 
2)robability  is  that  the  details  were  never  accurately  made 
public.  According  to  one  account,  he  hung  himself,  and 
tradition  still  points  in  Jerusalem  to  a  ragged,  ghastly, 
wind-swept  tree,  which  is  called  the  "  tree  of  Judas." 
Accoi'ding  to  another  version — not  irreconcilable  with  the 
first,  if  we  suppose  that  a  rope  or  a  branch  broke  under 
his  weight — he  fell  headlong,  burst  asunder  in  the  midst, 
and  all  his  bowels  gushed  out  (Acts  i,  18).  According  to 
a    third — current  among  the  early  Christians  —  his  body 


474  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

swelled  to  a  huge  size,  under  some  hideous  attack  of 
elephantiasis,  and  he  was  crushed  by  a  passing  wagon. 
The  arch-conspirators,  in  their  sanctimonious  scrupulosity, 
would  not  put  the  blood-money  which  he  had  returned  into 
the  "Corban,"  or  sacred  treasury,  but,  after  taking  coun- 
sel, bought  with  it  the  potter's  field  to  bury  strangers  in — 
a  plot  of  ground  which  })eriiaps  Judas  had  intended  to  pur- 
chase, and  in  which  he  met  his  end.  That  lield  was  long 
known  and  shuddered  at  as  the  Aceldama,  or  "  field  of 
blood,"  a  place  foul,  haunted  and  horrible. 


CHAPTER   LX. 

JESUS     BEFORE     PILATE. 

''  Suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate '' — so,  in  every  creed 
of  Christendom,  is  the  unhappy  name  of  the  Eoman  pro- 
curator handed  down  to  eternal  execration.  Yet  the 
object  of  introducing  that  name  was  not  to  point  a  moral, 
but  to  fix  an  epoch  ;  and,  in  point  of  fact,  of  all  the  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  rulers  before  whom  Jesus  was  brought  to 
judgment,  Pilate  was  the  least  guilty  of  malice  and  hatred, 
the  most  anxious,  if  not  to  spare  His  agony,  at  least  to 
save  His  life. 

What  manner  of  man  was  this  in  whose  hands  were 
placed,  by  power  from  above,  the  final  destinies  of  the 
Saviour's  life  ?  Of  his  origin,  and  of  his  antecedents 
before  a.d.  26,  when  he  became  the  sixth  Pi'ocurator  of 
Judaea,  but  little  is  known.  In  rank  he  belonged  to  the 
ordo  equester,  and  he  owed  his  appointment  to  the  influ- 
ence of  Sejanus.  His  name  "  Pontius  "  seems  to  point  to 
a  Samnite  extraction  ;  his  cognomen  '^  Pilatus  "  to  a  war- 
like ancestry.  His  jiraenomen,  if  he  had  one,  has  not 
been  preserved.  In  Judaea  he  had  acted  with  all  the 
haughty  violence  and  insolent  cruelty  of  a  typical  Eoman 
governor.  Scarcely  had  he  been  well  installed  as  Procura- 
tor, when,  allowing  his  soldiers  to  bring  with  them  by 
night  the  silver  eagles  and  other  insignia  of  the  legions 
from  Csesarea  to  the  Holy  City,  he  excited  a  fui-ious  out- 
burst of  Jewish  feeling  against  :in  act  which  they  regarded 
as  idolatrous  profanation.     For  five  days  and  nights — often 


JES US  B EFORE  PILA TE.  475 

lying  prostrate  on  tlie  bare  ground — they  surrounded  and 
almost  stormed  liis  residence  at  Csesarea  with  tumultuous 
and  threatening  entreaties,  and  could  not  be  made  to 
desist  on  the  sixth,  even  by  the  peril  of  immediate  and 
indiscriminate  massacre  at  the  hands  of  the  soldiers  whom 
he  sent  to  surround  them.  He  had  then  sullenly  given 
way,  and  this  foretaste  of  the  undaunted  and  fanatical 
resolution  of  the  people  with  wiiom  he  had  to  deal,  went 
far  to  embitter  his  whole  administration  with  a  sense  of 
overpowering  disgust. 

The  outbreak  of  the  Jews  on  a  second  occasion  was 
perhaps  less  justifiable,  but  it  might  easily  have  been 
avoided,  if  Pilate  would  have  studied  their  character  a  little 
more  considerately,  and  paid  more  respect  to  their  dom- 
inant superstition.  Jerusalem  seems  to  have  alwa3's 
suffered,  as  it  does  very  grievously  to  this  day,  from  a 
bad  and  deficient  supply  of  water.  To  remedy  this  incon- 
venience, Pilate  undertook  to  build  an  aqueduct,  by  which 
water  could  be  brought  from  the  "Pools  of  Solomon." 
Regarding  this  as  a  matter  of  public  benefit,  he  applied  to 
the  purpose  some  of  the  money  from  the  "  Corban,"  or 
sacred  treasury,  and  the  people  rose  in  furious  myriads  to 
resent  this  secular  appropriation  of  their  saci'ed  fund. 
Stung  by  their  insults  and  reproaches,  Pilate  disguised  a 
number  of  his  soldiers  in  Jewish  costume,  and  sent  them 
among  the  mob,  with  staves  and  daggers  concealed  under 
their  garments,  to  punish  the  ringleaders.  Upon  the 
refusal  of  the  Jews  to  separate  quietly,  a  signal  was  given, 
and  the  soldiers  carried  out  their  instructions  with  such 
hearty  good- will,  that  they  wounded  and  beat  to  death  not 
a  few  both  of  the  guilty  and  the  innocent,  and  created  so 
violent  a  tumult  that  many  perished  by  being  trodden  to 
death  under  the  feet  of  the  terrified  and  surging  mob. 
Thus,  in  a  nation  which  produced  the  sicarii,  Pilate  had 
given  a  fatal  precedent  of  sicarian  conduct;  the  assassins 
had  received  from  their  Procurator  an  example  of  the  use 
of  political  assassination. 

A  third  seditious  tumult  must  still  more  have  embittered 
the  disgust  of  the  Roman  (iovernor  for  his  subjects,  by 
showing  him  how  impossible  it  was  to  live  among  sucli 
people — even  in  a  conciliatory  spirit — without  outraging 
some  of  their  sensitive  prejudices.     In  the  Herodian  palace 


476  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

at  Jerusalem,  which  he  occupied  during  the  festivals,  he 
had  hung  some  gilt  shields  dedicated  to  Tiberius.  In  the 
speech  of  Agrippa  before  tlie  Emperor  Gaius,  as  narrated 
by  Piiilo,  this  act  is  attributed  to  wanton  malice;  but 
since,  by  the  king's  own  admission,  the  shields  were  per- 
fectly plain,  and  were  merely  decorated  with  a  votive  in- 
scription, it  is  fair  to  suppose  that  the  Jews  had  taken 
offence  at  what  Pilate  simply  intended  for  a  harmless  pri- 
vate ornament;  and  one  which,  nioreover,  he  could  hardly 
remove  without  some  danger  of  offending  the  gloomy  and. 
suspicious  Emperor  to  whose  honor  they  were  dedicated. 
Since  he  would  not  give  way,  the  chief  men  of  the  nation 
Avrote  a  letter  of  complaint  to  Tiberius  himself.  It  was  a 
l)art  of  Tiberius'  policy  to  keep  the  provinces  contented, 
aud  his  masculine  intellect  despised  the  obstinacy  which 
would  risk  an  insurrection  rather  than  sacrifice  a  whim. 
He  therefore  reprimanded  Pilate,  and  ordered  the  obnox- 
ious shields  to  be  transferred  from  Jerusalem  to  the  Temple 
of  Augustus  at  Ca3sarea. 

The  latter  incident  is  related  by  Philo  only  ;  and  besides 
these  three  outbreaks,  we  hear  in  the  Gosjiels  of  some  wild 
tumult  in  which  Pilate  had  mingled  the  blood  of  the  Gali- 
leans with  their  sacrifices.  He  was  finally  expelled  from 
his  Procuratorship  in  consequence  of  an  accusation  pre- 
ferred against  liim  by  the  Samaritans,  who  complained  to 
Lucius  Vitellius,  the  Legate  of  Syria,  that  he  had  wantonly 
attacked,  slain,  and  executed  a  number  of  them  who  had 
assembled  on  Mount  Gerizim  by  the  invitation  of  an  im- 
jiostor — possibly  Simon  Magus — who  promised  to  show 
them  the  Ark  and  sacred  vessels  of  the  Temple,  which, 
he  said,  had  been  concealed  there  by  Moses.  The  conduct 
of  Pilate  seems  on  this  occasion  to  iiave  been  needlessly 
prompt  and  violent ;  aud  although,  when  he  arrived  at 
Rome,  he  found  that  Tiberius  was  dead,  yet  even  Gaius 
refused  to  reinstate  him  in  his  government,  thinking  it  no 
doubt  a  bad  sign  that  he  should  thus  have  become  un- 
pleasantly involved  with  the  people  of  every  single  district 
in  his  narrow  government.  Sejanus  had  shown  the  most 
litter  dislike  against  the  Jews,  ami  Pilate  probably  reflected 
his  patron's  antiiiathies.  Such  was  Pontius  Pilate,  wliom 
the  pomps  and  perils  of  the  great  yearly  festival  had  sum- 
moned from  his  usual  residence  at  Csesarea  Philippi  to  the 


JESUS  BEFORE  PILATE.  477 

capital  of  the  nation  which  he  detested,   and   the  head- 
quarters of  a  fanaticism  which  he  despised.     At  Jerusalem 
he  occupied  one  of  the  two  gorgeous  palaces  which  had 
been  erected  there  by  the  lavish  architectural  extravagance 
of  the  first  Herod,    "it  was  situated  in  the  Upper  City  to 
the  south-west  of  Temple  Hill,  and  like  the  similar  build- 
ing at  Caesarea,  having  passed  from  the  use  of  the  provin- 
cial  king   to   that   of   the    Roman    governor,   was    called 
Herod's  Pra3torium  (Acts  xxiii.  35).     It  was  one  of  those 
luxurious  abodes,  "  surpassing  all  description,"  which  were 
in  accordance  with  the  tendencies  of  the  age,  and  on  which 
Josephus  dwells  with  ecstasies  of  admiration.     Between  its 
colossal  wings  of  white  marble — called  respectively  Csesar- 
eum  and  Agrippeum,  in  the  usual  spirit  of  Herodian  flat- 
tery to  the  Imperial  house — was  an  open  space  commanding 
a  noble  view  of  Jerusalem,  adorned  with  sculptured  por- 
ticoes and  columns  of  many-colored  marble,  paved   with 
rich  mosaics,   varied  with  fountains  and   reservoirs,   and 
green  promenades  which  furnished  a  delightful  asylum  to 
flocks  of  doves.     Externally  it  was  a  mass  of  lofty  walls, 
and  towers,  and  gleaming  roofs,  mingled  in  exquisite  varie- 
ties of  splendor;  within,  its  superb  rooms,  large  enough 
to   accommodate   a   hundred    guests,    were   adorned   with 
gorgeous  furniture  and  vessels  of  gold  and  silver.     A  mag- 
nificent  abode  for  a  mere  Roman  knight !    and  yet   the 
furious  fanaticism  of  the  populace  at  Jerusalem  made  it  a 
house  so  little  desirable  that  neither  Pilate  nor  his  pre- 
decessors seem  to  have  cared  to  enjoy  its  luxuries  for  more 
than  a  few  weeks  in  the  whole  year.     They  were  foj-ced  to 
be  present   in  the  Jewish  capital   during  those   crowded 
festivals  which  were  always  liable  to  be  disturbed  by  some 
outburst  of  inflammable   patriotism,   and   they  soon   dis- 
covered   that   even  a  gorgeous  palace  can  furnish  but  a 
repulsive  residence  if  it  be  built  on  the  heaving  lava  of 
a  volcano. 

In  that  kingly  palace— such  as  in  His  days  of  freedom 
He  had  never  trod — began,  in  three  distinct  acts,  the  fourth 
stage  of  that  agitating  scene  which  preceded  the  final 
agonies  of  Christ.  It  was  unlike  the  idle  inquisition  of 
Annas — the  extorted  confession  of  Caiaphas — the  illegal 
decision  of  the  Sanhedrin;  for  liore  His  judge  was  in  His 
favor,  and  with  all  the  strength  of  a  feeble  pride,  and  all 


478  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  daring  of  a  guilty  cowardice,  and  all  the  pity  of  which 
a  blood-stained  nature  was  capable,  did  strive  to  deliver 
Him.  This  last  trial  is  full  of  passion  and  movement  :  it 
involves  a  threefold  change  of  scene,  a  threefold  accusation, 
a  threefold  acquittal  by  the  Romans,  a  threefold  rejection 
by  the  Jews,  a  threefold  warning  to  Pilate,  and  a  threefold 
effort  on  his  part,  made  with  ever-increasing  energy  and 
ever-deepeuing  agitation,  to  balfle  the  accusers  and  to  set 
the  victim  free. 

1.  It  was  probably  about  seven  in  the  morning  that, 
thinking  to  overawe  the  Procurator  by  their  numbers  Jind 
their  dignity,  the  imposing  procession  of  the  Sanhedrists 
and  Priests,  headed,  no  doubt,  by  Caiaphas  himself,  con- 
ducted Jesus,  with  a  cord  round  His  neck,  from  their  Hall 
of  Meeting  over  the  lofty  bridge  which  spanned  the  Valley 
of  the  Tyropoeon,  in  presence  of  all  the  city,  with  the 
bound  hands  of  a  sentenced  criminal,  a  spectacle  to  angels 
and  to  men. 

Disturbed  at  this  early  hour,  and  probably  prepared  for 
some  Pascha  disturbance  more  serious  than  usual,  Pilate 
entered  the  Hall  of  Judgment,  whither  Jesus  had  been 
led,  in  company  (as  seems  clear)  with  a  certain  number  of 
His  accusers  and  of  those  most  deeply  interested  in  His 
case.  But  the  great  Jewish  hierarchs,  shrinking  from 
ceremonial  pollution,  though  not  from  moral  guilt — afraid 
of  leaven,  though  not  afraid  of  innocent  blood — refused  to 
enter  the  Gentile's  hall,  lest  they  should  be  polluted,  and 
should  consequently  be  unable  that  night  to  eat  the  Pass- 
over. In  no  good  humor,  but  in  haughty  and  half-neces- 
sary condescension  to  what  he  would  regard  as  the  despic- 
able superstitions  of  an  inferior  race,  Pilate  goes  out  to  them 
under  the  burning  early  sunlight  of  an  Eastern  spring.^ 
One  haughty  glance  takes  in  the  pompous  assemblage  of 
priestly  notables,  and  the  turbulent  mob  of  this  singular  peo- 
ple, equally  distasteful  to  him  as  a  Roman  and  as  a  ruler; 
and  observing  in  that  one  glance  the  fierce  passions  of  the 
accusers,  as  he  had  already  noted  the  meek  ineffable  grand- 
eur of  their  victim,  his  question  is  sternly  brief  :  "  What 
accusation  bring  ye  against  this  man?"  The  question  took 
them  by  surprise,  and  showed  them  that  they  must  be  pre- 
pared for  an  unconcealed  antagonism  to  all  their  purposes. 
Pilate  evidently  intended   a  judicial  'm<\n\Yy;tliey  had  ex- 


JESUS  BEFORE  PILATE.  479 

pected  only  a  license  to  kill,  and  to  kill,  not  by    a  Jewish 
method  of  execution,  but  by  one  which  they   regarded  as 
more  horrible  and  accursed  (Deut.  xxi,  'Z^Z,  Z'd).  "  If  He  were 
not  a  malefactor,"  is  their  indefinite  and  surly  answer,  "'  we 
would  not  have  delivered  Him  up  unto  thee."    But  Pilate's 
Eoman  knowledge  of  law,  his  Roman  instinct  of  justice, 
his  Roman  contempt  for  their  murderous  fanaticism,  made 
him  not  choose  to  act  upon  a  charge  so  entirely  vague,  nor 
give  the  sanction  of  his  tribunal  to  their  dark,  disorderly 
decrees.     He  would  not  deign  to  be  an   executioner  where 
he  had  not  been  a  judge.     "'  Very  well,"  he  answered,  with 
a  superb  contempt,  "  take  ye  Him  and  judge  Him  accord- 
ing to  your  law."     But  now  they  are  forced  to  the  humil- 
iating confession  that,  having  been    deprived   of   i\\Q  jus 
gladii,  they  cannot  inflict  the  death  which  alone  will  sat- 
isfy them;  for  indeed  it  stood  written  in  the  eternal  coun- 
cils  that    Christ    was  to   die,  not   by   Jewish   stoning   or 
strangulation,  but  by  that  Roman  form  of  execution  which 
inspired  the  Jews  with  a  nameless   horroi-,  even   by  cruci- 
fixion; that  He  was  to  reign  from  His  cross — to  die  by  that 
most  fearfully  significant  and  typical  of   deaths — public, 
slow,    conscious,    accursed,  agonizing  —  worse  even  than 
burning — the  worst  type  of  all   possible   deaths,  and  the 
worst  result  of  that  curse  which  He  was  to  remove  forever. 
Dropping,  therefore,  for  the  present,  the  charge   of  blas- 
phemy, which  did  not  suit  their  purpose,  they  burst  into  a 
storm" of  invectives  against  Him,  in   which   are  discernible 
the  triple  accusations,  that  He  perverted   the  nation,  that 
He  forbade  to  give  tribute,  that  He  called  Himself  a  king. 
All  three  charges  were  flagrantly  false,  and  the  third  all 
the  more  so  because  it   included   a   grain   of  truth.     But 
since  they  had  not   confronted  Jesus  with   any  proofs  or 
witnesses,    Pilate,    in    whose    whole    bearing     and    lan- 
guage   is   manifest   the   disgust  embittered  by   fear   with 
which  the  Jews  inspired  him — deigns  to  notice  the  third 
charge  alone,  and  proceeds  to  discover  whether  the  confes- 
sion of  the  prisoner — always  held  desirable  by    Roman  in- 
stitutions— would  enable  him  to  take  any  cognizance  of  it. 
Leaving  the  impatient  Sanhedrin  and  the  raging  crowd, 
he    retired    into    the    Judgment    Hall.     St.    John  alone 
preserves    for    us    the    memorable  scene.     Jesus,  though 
not    '*  in    soft    clothing,"    though     not    a     denizen     of 


480  THE  LIFE  OF  ClIlUST. 

kings'  houses,  hud  been  led  up  tl)e  noble  flight  of 
stairs,  over  the  floors  of  agate  and  lazuli,  under  the 
gilded  roofs,  ceiled  with  cedar  and  painted  with  vermilion, 
which  adoriied  but  one  abandoned  palace  of  a  great  king 
of  the  Jews.  Thei'e,  amid  those  voluptuous  splendors, 
Pilate — already  interested,  already  feeling  in  this  prisoner 
before  him  some  nobleness  which  touched  his  Koman 
nature — asked  Him  in  pitying  wonder,  "  Art  thou  the 
King  of  the  Jews  ?" —  thou  poor,  worn,  tear-stained  out- 
cast in  this  hour  of  thy  bitter  need  —  oh,  pale,  lonely, 
friendless,  wasted  man,  in  thy  poor  peasant  garments,  with 
thy  tied  hands,  and  the  foul  traces  of  the  insults  of  thine 
enemies  on  thy  face,  and  on  thy  robes — thou,  so  unlike  the 
fierce,  magnificent  Herod,  whom  this  multitude  which 
thirsts  for  thy  blood  acknowledged  as  their  sovereign — art 
tliou  the  King  of  the  Jews  ?  There  is  a  royalty  which 
Pilate,  and  men  like  Pilate,  cannot  understand — a  royalty 
of  holiness,  a  supremacy  of  self-sacrifice.  To  say  ''No" 
would  have  been  to  belie  the  truth  ;  to  say  "  Yes  "  would 
have  been  to  mislead  the  questioner.  "  Sayest  thou  this 
of  thyself  ?■' He  answered  with  gentle  dignity,  "or  did 
others  tell  it  thee  of  me  ?"  *'Am  I  a  Jeiv  9"  is  the  disdain- 
ful answer.  ''  Thy  own  nation  and  the  chief  priests  de- 
livered thee  unto  me.  What  hast  thou  done?"  Done  ? — 
works  of  wonder,  and  mercy,  and  power,  and  innocence, 
and  these  alone.  But  Jesus  reverts  to  the  first  question, 
now  that  He  has  prepared  Pilate  to  understand  the  answer: 
"Yes,  He  is  a  king;  but  not  of  this  world  ;  not  from 
hence;  not  one  for  whom  His  servants  would  fight," 
"  Thou  ai't  a  king,  then  ?"  said  Pilate  to  Him  in  astonish- 
ment. Yes  !  but  a  kiug  not  in  this  region  of  falsities  and 
shadows,  but  one  born  to  bear  witness  unto  the  ti'uth,  and 
one  whom  all  who  were  of  the  truth  should  hear. 
"Truth,"  said  Pilate  impatiently,  "what  is  truth f 
What  had  he — a  busy,  practical  Eoman  governor — to  do 
with  such  dim  absti-actions  ?  what  bearing  had  they  on  the 
question  of  life  and  death  ?  what  unpractical  hallucina- 
tion, what  fairyland  of  dreaming  phantasy  was  this  ? 
Yet,  though  he  contemptuously  put  the  discussion  aside, 
he  was  touched  and  moved.  A  judicial  mind,  a  forensic 
training,  familiarity  with  human  nature  which  had  given 
him  some  insight  into  the  characters  of   men,  showed  him 


JE8  US  B  EFOR  E  TIL  A  TE.  48 1 

that  Jesus  was  not  only  wholly  innocent,  bnt  infinitely 
nobler  and  better  than  His  raving  sanctimonious  accusers. 
He  wholly  set  aside  the  floating  idea  of  an  unearthly 
royalty;  he  saw  in  the  prisoner  before  his  tribunal  an  inno- 
cent and  high-souled  dreamer,  nothing  more.  And  so, 
leaving  Jesus  there,  he  went  out  again  to  the  Jews,  and 
pronounced  his  first  emphatic  and  unhesitating  acquittal: 
"  I  FIND  IN  Him  no  fault  at  all." 

2.  But  this  public  decided  acquittal  only  kindled  the 
fury  of  His  enemies  into  yet  fiercer  flame.  After  all  that 
they  had  hazarded,  after  all  that  they  had  inflicted,  after 
the  sleepless  night  of  their  plots,  adjurations,  insults,  Avas 
their  purpose  to  be  foiled  after  all  by  the  intervention  of 
the  very  Gentiles  on  whom  they  had  relied  for  its  bitter 
consummation?  Should  this  victim,  whom  they  had  thus 
clutched  in  their  deadly  grasp,  be  rescued  from  High 
Priests  and  rulers  by  the  contempt  or  the  pity  of  an  inso- 
lent heathen?  It  was  too  intolerable  1  Their  voices  rose  in 
wilder  tumult.  "  He  was  a  mesith;  He  had  upset  the 
people  with  His  teaching  through  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  land,  beginning  from  Galilee,  even  as  far  as  here." 

Amid  these  confused  and  passionate  exclamations  the 
practiced  ear  of  Pilate  caught  the  name  of  "  Galilee,"  and 
he  understood  that  Galilee  had  been  the  chief  scene  of  the 
ministry  of  Jesus.  Eager  for  a  chance  of  dismissing  a  bus- 
iness of  which  he  was  best  pleased  to  be  free,  he  proposed, 
by  a  master-stroke  of  astute  policy,  to  get  rid  of  an  embar- 
rassing prisoner,  to  save  himself  from  a  disagreeable  de- 
cision, and  to  do  an  unexpected  complaisance  to  the  un- 
friendly Galilgean  tetrarch,  who,  as  usual,  had  come  to 
Jerusalem — nominally  to  keep  the  Passover,  really  to  please 
his  subjects,  and  to  enjoy  the  sensations  Jiud  festivities  of- 
fered at  that  season  by  the  densely  crowded  capital.  Ac- 
cordingly, Pilate,  secretly  glad  to  wash  his  hands  of  a  de- 
testable responsibility,  sent  Jesus  to  Herod  Antipas,  who 
was  probably  occupying  the  old  Asmonsean  palace,  which 
had  been  the  royal  residence  at  Jerusalem  until  it  had  been 
surpassed  by  the  more  splendid  one  which  the  prodigal 
tyrant,  his  father,  had  built.  And  so,  through  the 
thronged  ami  narrow  streets,  amid  the  jeering,  raging 
multitude,  the  weary  Sufferer  was  dragge'd  once  more. 

We  have  caught  glimpses  of  this  Herod  Antipas  before. 


48^  THE  LIFE  OF  GHRT8T. 

and  I  do  not  know  that  all  History,  in  its  gallery  of  por- 
traits, contains  a  ninch  more  desjiicable  figure  than  tliis 
wretched,  dissolute  Iduma3an  Sadducee — this  petty  prince- 
ling drowned  in  debauchery  and  blood.  To  him  was  ad- 
dressed the  sole  purely  contemptuous  expression  that  Jesus 
is  ever  recorded  to  have  used  (Luke  xiii.  32).  Superstition 
and  incredulity  usually  go  together;  avowed  atheists  have 
yet  believed  in  augury,  and  men  wlio  do  not  believe  in  God 
will  believe  in  ghosts.  Antipas  was  rejoiced  beyond  all 
things  to  see  Jesus.  He  had  long  been  wanting  to 
see  Him  because  of  the  rumors  he  had  heard  ;  and 
this  murderer  of  the  prophets  hoped  that  Jesus  would,  in 
compliment  to  royalty,  amuse  by  some  miracle  his  gaping 
curiosity.  He  harangued  and  questioned  ll'\m  in  many 
'words,  but  gained  not  so  much  as  one  syllable  in  reply. 
Our  Lord  confronted  all  his  ribald  questions  with  the 
majesty  of  silence.  To  such  a  man,  who  even  changed 
scorn  into  a  virtue,  speech  would  clearly  have  been  a  pro- 
fanation. Then  all  the  savage  vulgarity  of  the  man  came 
out  through  the  thin  veneer  of  a  superficial  cultivation. 
For  the  second  time  Jesus  is  derided — derided  this  time  as 
Priest  and  Prophet.  Herod  and  his  corrupt  hybrid  myr- 
midons ''set  Him  at  nought"  —  treated  Him  with  the 
insolence  of  a  studied  contempt.  Mocking  His  innocence 
and  His  misery  in  a  festal  and  shining  robe,  the  empty  and 
wicked  prince  sent  Him  back  to  the  Procurator,  to  whom 
he  now  became  half-reconciled  after  a  long-standing 
enmity.  But  he  contented  himself  with  these  cruel  insults. 
He  resigned  to  the  forum  apprehension  is  all  further  respon- 
sibility as  to  the  issue  of  the  trial.  Though  the  Chief 
Priests  and  Scribes  stood  about  his  throne  unanimously 
instigating  him  to  a  fresh  and  more  heinous  act  of  murder 
by  their  intense  accusations,  he  practically  showed  that  he 
thought  their  accusations  frivolous,  by  treating  them  as  a 
jest.  It  was  the  fifth  trial  of  Jesus;  it  was  His  second 
jHiblic  distinct  acquittal. 

3.  And  now,  as  He  stood  once  more  before  the  perplexed 
and  wavering  Governor,  began  the  sixth,  the  last,  the  most 
agitating  and  agonizing  phase  of  this  terrible  inquisition. 
Now  was  the  time  for  Pilate  to  have  acted  on  a  clear  and 
right  conviction,  *and  saved  himself  forever  from  the  guilt 
of  innocent  blood.     He  came  out  once  more,  and  seating 


JE8  lis  BEFOR  E  PiLA  TE.  483 

himself  on  a  stately  hema — perhaps  the  goUleii  throne  of 
Archelaus,  which  was  placed  on  the  elevated  pavement  of 
many-colored  marble — summoned  the  Priests,  the  San- 
hedrists,  and  tlie  people  before  him,  and  seriously  told 
them  that  they  had  brought  Jesus  to  his  tribunal  as  a 
leader  of  sedition  and  turbulence;  that  after  full  and  fair 
inquiry  he,  their  Roman  Governor,  had  found  their  pris- 
oner absolutely  guiltless  of  these  charges;  that  he  had  then 
sent  Him  to  Herod,  their  native  king,  and  that  he  also  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  Jesus  had  committed  no  crime 
which  deserved  the  punishment  of  death.  And  now  came 
the  golden  opportunity  for  him  to  vindicate  the  grandeur 
of  his  country's  imperial  justice,  and,  as  he  had  pro- 
nounced Him  absolutely  innocent,  to  set  Him  absolutely 
free.  But  exactly  at  that  point  he  wavered  and  tem- 
porized. The  dread  of  another  insurrection  haunted  him 
like  a  nightmare.  He  was  willing  to  go  half  way  to  please 
these  dangerous  sectaries.  To  justify  them,  as  it  were,  in 
their  accusation,  he  would  chastise  Jesus — scourge  Him 
publicly,  as  though  to  render  His  pretensions  ridiculous — 
disgrace  and  ruin  Him — "make  Him  seem  vile  in  their 
eyes  " — and  then  set  Him  free.  And  this  notion  of  setting 
Him  free  suggested  to  him  another'  resource  of  tortuous 
policy.  Both  he  and  the  people  almost  simultaneously 
bethought  themselves  that  it  had  always  been  a  Paschal 
boon  to  liberate  at  the  feast  some  condemned  prisoner.  He 
offered,  therefore,  to  make  the  acquittal  of  Jesus  an  act 
not  of  imperious  justice,  but  of  artificial  grace. 

In  making  tliis  suggestion  —  in  thus  flagrantly  tamper- 
iug  with  his  innate  sense  of  right,  and  resigning  against 
liis  will  the  best  prerogative  of  his  authority — he  was 
already  acting  in  spite  of  a  warning  which  he  had  received. 
That  first  warning  consisted  in  the  deep  misgiving,  the 
powerful  presentiment,  which  overcame  him  as  he  looked 
on  his  bowed  and  silent  prisoner.  But,  as  though  to 
strengthen  him  in  his  resolve  to  prevent  an  absolute  failure 
of  a// justice,  he  now  yqcq\\q(\.  ix  second  solemn  warning  — 
and  one  which  to  an  ordinary  Rotuan,  and  a  Roman  who 
remembered  Caesar's  murder  and  ('alpurnia's  dream,  might 
well  have  seemed  divinely  sinistei*.  His  own  wife  — 
Claudia  Procula  —  ventured  to  send  him  a  public  message, 
even  as  he  sat  there  on  his  tribunal,  that,  in  the  morning 


484  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

honrs,  when  dreams  are  true,  she  liad  had  a  troubled  and 
painful  dream  about  that  Just  Man;  and,  bolder  than  her 
husband,  she  bade  him  beware  how  he  molested  Ilim. 

Gladly,  most  gladly,  would  Pilate  have  yielded  to  his 
own  presentiments — have  gratified  his  pity  and  his  justice 
— have  obeyed  the  prohibition  conveyed  by  this  mysterious 
omen.  Gladly  even  would  he  have  yielded  to  the  worse 
and  baser  instinct  of  asserting  his  power,  and  thwarting 
these  envious  and  hated  fanatics,  whom  he  knew  to  be 
ravening  for  innocent  blood.  That  they — to  many  of  whom 
sedition  was  as  tbe  breath  of  life  —  should  be  sincere  in 
charging  Jesus  with  sedition  was,  as  he  well  knew,  absurd. 
Their  utterly  transparent  hypocrisy  in  this  matter  only 
added  to  his  undisguised  contempt.  If  he  could  have 
dared  to  show  his  real  instincts,  he  would  have  driven 
them  from  his  tribunal  with  all  the  haughty  insouciance 
of  a  Gallio.  But  Pilate  was  guilty,  and  guilt  is  cowardice, 
and  cowardice  is  weakness.  His  own  past  cruelties,  recoil- 
ing in  kind  on  his  own  head,  forced  him  now  to  crush  the 
impulse  of  pity,  and  to  add  to  his  many  cruelties  another 
more  heinous  still.  He  knew  that  serious  complaints  hung 
over  his  head.  Those  Samaritans  whom  he  had  insulted 
and  oppressed  —  tbose  Jews  whom  he  had  stabbed  promis- 
cuously in  the  crowd  by  the  hands  of  his  disguised  and 
secret  emissaries  —  those  Galiloeans  whose  blood  he  had 
mingled  with  their  sacrifices  —  was  not  their  blood  crying 
for  vengeance?  Was  not  an  embassy  of  complaint  against  him 
imminent  even  now?  AYould  it  not  be  dangerously  precipi- 
tated if,  in  so  dubious  a  matter  as  a  charge  of  claiming  a 
kingdom,  he  raised  a  tumult  among  a  people  in  whose  case  it 
was  the  best  interest  of  the  Romans  that  they  should  hug 
their  chains?  Dare  he  stand  the  chance  of  stirring  up  a 
new  and  apparently  terrible  rebellion  rather  than  conde- 
scend to  a  simple  concession,  which  was  rapidly  assuming 
the  aspect  of  a  politic,  and  even  necessary,  compromise? 

His  tortuous  policy  recoiled  on  his  own  head,  and  ren- 
dered impossible  his  own  wishes.  The  Nemesis  of  his  past 
wrong-doing  was  that  he  could  no  longer  do  right. 
Hounded  on  by  the  Priests  and  Saniiedrists,  the  people 
impetuously  claimed  the  Paschal  boon  of  which  he  had 
reminded  them;  but  in  doing  so  they  unmasked  still  more 
decidedly  the  sinister  nature  of  their  hatred  against  their 


JESUS  BEFORE  PILATE.  485 

Redeemer.  For  while  they  were  professing  to  rage  against 
the  asserted  seditiousness  of  One  who  was  wholly  obedient 
and  peaceful,  they  shonted  for  the  liberation  of  a  man 
■whose  notorious  sedition  had  been  also  stained  by  brigand- 
age and  murder.  Loathing  the  innocent,  they  loved  the 
guilty,  and  claimed  the  Procurator's  grace  on  behalf,  not 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  but  of  a  man  who,  in  the  fearful 
irony  of  circumstance,  was  also  called  Jesus — Jesus  Bar- 
Abbas — who  not  only  ivas  what  they  falsely  said  of  Christ, 
a  leader  of  sedition,  but  also  a  robber  and  a  murderer.  It 
■was  fitting  that  they,  who  had  preferred  an  abject  Sad- 
ducee  to  their  true  priest,  and  an  incestuous  Idumaean  to 
their  Lord  and  King,  should  deliberately  prefer  a  murderer 
to  their  Messiah. 

It  may  be  that  Bar-Abhas  had  been  brought  forth,  and 
that  thus  Jesus  the  scowling  murderer  and  Jesus  the  inno- 
cent Redeemer  stood  together  on  that  high  tribunal  side  by 
side.  The  people,  persuaded  by  their  priests,  clamored  for 
the  liberation  of  the  rebel  and  the  robber.  To  him  every 
hand  was  pointed;  for  him  every  voice  was  raised.  For  the 
Holy,  the  Harmless,  theUndefiled — for  Him  whom  a  thou- 
sand Hosannas  had  greeted  but  five  days  before — no  word 
of  pity  or  of  pleading  found  an  utterance.  "  He  was  des- 
pised and  rejected  of  men." 

Deliberately  putting  the  question  to  them,  Pilate  heard 
Avith  scornful  indignation  their  deliberate  choice ;  and 
then,  venting  his  bitter  disdain  and  anger  in  taunts,  which 
did  but  irritate  them  more,  without  serving  any  good  pur- 
pose, "  What  then,"  lie  scornfully  asked,  "  do  ye  wish  me 
to  do  with  the  King  of  the  Jews?"  Then  first  broke  out 
the  mad  scream,  "  Crucify  I  crucify  Ilim!"  In  vain,  again 
and  again,  in  tlie  pauses  of  the  tumult,  Pilate  insisted,  ob- 
stinately indeed,  but  with  more  and  more  feebleness  of 
purpose — for  none  but  a  man  more  innocent  than  Pilate, 
even  if  he  were  a  Roman  governoi',  could  have  listened 
without  quailing  to  the  frantic  ravings  of  an  Oriental  mob 
— "'  Why,  what  evil  hath  He  done?"  "  I  found  no  cause  of 
death  in"  Him."  ''I  will  chastise  Him  and  let  Him  go." 
Such  half-willed  opposition  was  wholly  unavailing.  It 
only  betrayed  to  the  Jews  the  inward  fears  of  their  Pro- 
curator, and  practically  made  them  masters  of  the  situation. 
Again  and  again,  with  wilder  and  wilder  vehemence,  they 


486  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

rent  the  air  with  those  hideous  yells — "jf/je  rovrov.  ^An6\v- 
dov  Tfjitly  Bixpaftftdv.  Sravpoadov,  draupoodoy — "  Away  With 
this  man."  "Loose  unto  us  Bar-Abbas."  "Crucify! 
crucify  I" 

For  a  moment  Pilate  seemed  utterly  to  yield  to  the 
storm.  He  let  Bar- Abbas  free  ;  he  delivered  Jesus  over 
to  be  scourged.  The  word  used  for  the  scourging 
{(ppaxeXXaJdai)  implies  that  it  was  done,  not  with  rods 
{virgae),  for  Pilate  had  no  lictors,  but  with  what  Horace 
calls  the  "horribile  flagellum,'"  of  which  the  Russian  knout 
is  the  only  modern  representative.  Tliis  scourging  was 
the  ordinary  preliminary  to  crucifixion  and  other  forms  of 
capital  punishment.  It  was  a  punishment  so  truly  horrible 
that  the  mind  revolts  at  it,  and  it  has  long  been  abolished 
by  that  compassion  of  mankind  which  has  been  so  greatly 
intensified,  and  in  some  degree  even  created,  by  the  gradual 
comprehension  of  Christian  truth.  The  unhappy  sufferer 
was  publicly  stripped,  was  tied  by  the  hands  in  a  bent  posi- 
tion to  a  pillar,  and  then,  on  the  tense  quivering  nerves  of 
the  naked  back,  the  blows  were  inflicted  with  leathern 
thongs,  weighted  with  „' -gged  edges  of  bone  and  lead  ; 
sometimes  even  the  blows  fell  by  accident — sometimes, 
with  terrible  barbarity,  were  purposely  struck — on  the  face 
and  eyes.  It  was  a  punishment  so  hideous  that,  under  its 
lacerating  agony,  the  victim  generally  fainted,  often  died  ; 
still  more  frequently  a  man  was  sent  away  to  perish  under 
the  mortification  and  nervous  exhaustion  which  ensued. 
And  this  awful  cruelty — on  which  we  dare  not  dwell — this 
cruelty  which  makes  the  heart  shudder  and  grow  cold — 
was  followed  immediately  by  the  third  and  bitterest  de- 
rision— the  derision  of  Christ  as  King. 

In  civilized  nations  all  is  done  that  can  be  done  to  spare 
every  needless  suffering  to  a  man  condemned  to  death  ; 
but  among  the  Romans  insult  and  derision  were  the 
customary  preliminaries  to  the  last  agony.  The  "  ct 
pereuntibus  addita  ludibria"  of  Tacitus  might  stand  for 
their  general  practice.  Such  a  custom  furnished  a  speci- 
men of  that  worst  and  lowest  form  of  human  wickedness 
which  delights  to  inflict  pain,  wliich  feels  an  inhuman 
pleasure  in  gloating  over  the  agoiiies  of  another,  even 
when  he  has  done  no  wrong.  The  mere  spectacle  of 
agony  is  agreenble  to  the  degraded  soul,     The  low   vilo 


JESUS  BEFORE  PILATE.  487 

soldiery  of  the  Praetoriuni — not  Romans,  who  might  have 
had  more  sense  of  the  inborn  dignity  of  the  silent  snfEerer, 
but  mostly  tlie  mere  mercenary  scum  and  dregs  of  the 
provinces— led  Ilini  into  their  barrack-room,  and  there 
mocked,  in  their  savage  hatred,  the  King  whom  they  had 
tortured.  It  added  keenness  to  their  enjoyment  to  have 
in  their  power  One  who  was  of  Jewish  birth,  of  innocent 
life,  of  noblest  bearing.  The  opportunity  broke  so  agree- 
ably the  coarse  monotony  of  their  life,  that  they  sum- 
moned all  of  the  cohort  who  were  disengaged  to  witness 
their  brutal  sport.  In  sight  of  these  hardened  ruffians 
they  went  through  the  whole  heartless  ceremony  of  a 
mock  coronation,  a  mock  investiture,  a  mock  homage. 
Around  the  brows  of  Jesus,  in  wanton  mimicry  of  the 
Emperor's  laurel,  they  twisted  a  green  wreath  of  thorny 
leaves  ;  in  His  tied  and  trembling  hands  they  placed  a 
reed  for  sceptre  ;  from  His  torn  and  bleeding  shoulders 
they  stripped  the  white  robe  with  which  Herod  had 
mocked  Him — which  must  now  have  been  all  soaked  with 
blood — and  flung  on  Him  an  old  scarlet  paludament — 
some  cast-off  war  cloak,  with  its  purple  laticlave,  from  the 
Pr^torian  wardrobe.  This,  with  feigned  solemnity,  they 
buckled  over  His  right  shoulder,  with  its  glittering  fibula  ; 
and  then  —  each  with  his  derisive  homage  of  bended  knee 

—  each  with  His  infamous  spitting  —  each  with  the  blow 
over  the  head  from  the  reed  sceptre,  which  His  bound 
hands  could  not  hold — they  kept  passing  before  Him 
with  their  mock  saluatation  of  "  Hail,  King  of  the  Jews  !" 

Even  now,  even  yet,  Pilate  wished,  hoped,  even  strove 
to  save  Him.  He  might  represent  this  frightful  scourging, 
not  as  the  preliminary  to  crucifixion,  but  as  an  inquiry  by 
torture,  which  had  failed  to  elicit  any  further  confession. 
And  as  Jesus  came  forth  —  as  He  stood  beside  him  with 
that  martyr-form  on  the  beautiful  mosaic  of  the  tribunal 

—  the  spots  of  blood  upon  His  green  wreath  of  torture, 
the  mark  of  blows  and  spitting  on  His  countenance,  the 
weariness  of  His  deathful  agony  upon  the  sleepless  eyes, 
tiie  sagum  of  faded  scarlet,  darkened  by  the  weals  of  His 
lacerated  back,  and  dropping,  it  may  be,  its  stains  of 
crimson  upon  the  tessellated  floor  —  even  then,  even  so,  in 
that  hour  of  His  extremest  humiliation  —  yet,  as  He 
stood   in   tlie   grandeur  of   His  holy  calm  on  that  lofty 


488  THE  LIFE  OF  CUllIST. 

tribiuuil  above  the  yelling  crowd,  there  shone  all  over  Him 
so  Godlike  a  pre-eminence,  so  divine  a  nobleness,  that 
Pilate  broke  forth  with  that  involuntary  exclamation  which 
has  thrilled  with  emotion  so  many  million  hearts  : 

"Behold  the  Man  V 

But  his  appeal  only  woke  a  fierce  outbreak  of  the 
scream,  "  Crucify  !  crucify  !"  The  mere  sight  of  Him, 
even  in  this  His  unspeakable  shame  and  sorrow,  seemed  to 
add  fresh  fuel  to  their  hate.  In  vain  the  heathen  soldier 
appeals  for  humanity  to  the  Jewish  priest  ;  no  heart 
til  robbed  with  responsive  pity  ;  no  voice  of  compassion 
broke  that  monotonous  yell  of  "  Crucify  !" — the  howling 
refrain  of  their  wild  ''liturgy  of  death."  The  Roman 
who  had  shed  blood  like  water,  on  the  field  of  battle,  in 
open  massacre,  in  secret  assassination,  might  well  be 
supposed  to  have  an  icy  and  a  stony  heart ;  but  yet  icier 
and  stonier  was  the  heart  of  those  scrupulous  hypocrites 
and  worldly  priests.  "  Take  ye  Him,  and  crucify  Him," 
said  Pilate,  in  utter  disgust,  "for  I  find  no  fault  in  Him." 
AVhat  an  admission  from  a  Roman  judge  !  "  So  far  as  I 
can  see.  He  is  wholly  innocent ;  yet  if  you  must  crucify 
Him,  take  Him  and  crucify.  I  cannot  approve  of,  but  I 
will  readily  connive  at,  your  violation  of  the  law."  But 
even  this  wretched  guilty  subterfuge  is  not  permitted  him. 
Satan  will  have  fioni  his  servants  the  full  tale  of  their 
crimes,  and  the  sign  manual  of  their  own  willing  assent  at 
last.  What  the  Jews  want —  what  the  Jews  will  have  —  is 
not  tacit  connivance,  but  absolute  sanction.  They  see 
their  power.  They  see  that  this  blood-stained  Governor 
dares  not  hold  out  against  them  ;  they  know  that  the 
Roman  statecraft  is  tolerant  of  concessions  to  local  super- 
stition. Boldly,  therefore,  they  fling  to  the  winds  all 
question  of  a  political  offense,  and  with  all  their  hypo- 
critical pretences  calcined  by  the  heat  of  their  passion, 
they  shout,  "  We  have  a  law,  and  by  our  law  He  ought  to 
die,  because  He  made  Himself  a  Son  of  God." 

A  Son  of  God  !  The  notion  was  far  less  strange  and 
repulsive  to  a  heathen  than  to  a  Jew  ;  and  this  word,  un- 
heard before,  startled  Pilate  with  the  third  omen,  which 
made  him  tremble  at  the  crime  into  which  he  was  being 
dragged  by  guilt  and  fear.  Once  more,  leaving  the  yell- 
ing multitude  without,  he  takes  Jesus  with  him  into  the 


JESUS  BEFORE  PILATE.  489 

quiet  Judgment  Hall,  and  —  ^' jam  pro  sua  conscientid 
Christianus,"  as  Tertullian  so  finely  observes  —  asks  Hiiii 
in  awe-struck  accents,  "Whence  art  thou?"  Alas  !  it  was 
too  late  to  answer  now.  Pilate  was  too  deeply  committed  to 
his  gross  cruelty  and  injustice  ;  for  him  Jesus  had  spoken 
enough  already  ;  for  the  wild  beasts  who  raged  without,  He 
had  no  more  to  say.  He  did  not  answer.  Then,  almost 
angrily,  Pilate  broke  out  with  the  exclamation,  "Dost  thou 
not  speak  even  to  me  ?  Dost  Thou  not  know  that  I  have 
power  to  set  thee  free,  and  have  power  to  crucify  Thee?" 
Power — how  so?  Was  Justice  nothing,  then?  truth  noth- 
ing ?  innocence  nothing  ?  conscience  nothing  ?  In  the 
reality  of  things  Pilate  had  no  such  power ;  even  in  the 
arbitrary  sense  of  the  tyrant  it  was  an  idle  boast,  for  at 
this  very  moment  he  was  letting  "  I  dare  not"  wait  upon 
"  I  would."  And  Jesus  pitied  the  hopeless  bewilderment 
of  this  man,  whom  guilt  had  changed  from  a  ruler  into  a 
slave.  Not  taunting,  not  confuting  him — nay,  even  ex- 
tenuating rather  than  aggravating  his  sin— Jesus  gently 
answered,  "  Thou  hast  no  power  against  Me  whatever,  had 
it  not  been  given  thee  from  above  ;  therefore  he  that  be- 
trayed me  to  thee  hath  the  greater  sin."  Thou  art  indeed 
committing  a  great  crime  ;  but  Judas,  Annas,  Caiaphas, 
these  priests  and  Jews,  are  more  to  blame  than  thou. 
Thus,  with  infinite  dignity,  and  yet  with  infinite  tender- 
ness, did  Jesus  Judge  His  Judge.  In  the  very  depths  of 
his  inmost  soul  Pilate  felt  the  truth  of  the  words— silently 
acknowledged  the  superiority  of  his  bound  and  lacerated 
victim.     All  that  remained  in  him  of  human  and  of  noble 

"  Felt  how  awful  Goodness  is,  and  Virtue, 
In  her  shape  how  lovely  ;  felt  and  mourned 
His  fall." 

All  of  his  soul  that  was  not  eaten  away  by  pride  and  cruelty 
thrilted  back  an  unwonted  echo  to  these  few  calm  words  of 
the  Son  of  God.  Jesus  had  condemned  his  sin,  and  so  far 
from  being  offended,  the  Judgment  only  deepened  his  awe 
of  this  mysterious  Being,  whose  utter  impotence  seemed 
grander  and  more  awful  than  the  loftiest  power.  From 
that  time  Pilate  was  even  yet  more  anxious  to  save  Him. 
With  all  his  conscience  in  a  tumult,  for  the  third  and  last 
time  he  mounted  his  tribunal,  and  made  one  more  desper- 


490  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ate  effort.  He  led  Jesus  forth,  and  looking  at  Him,  as  He 
stood  silent  and  in  agony,  but  calm,  on  that  shining  Gab- 
batlia,  above  the  brutal  agitations  of  the  multitude,  he  said 
to  those  frantic  rioters,  as  with  a  flash  of  genuine  convic- 
tion, •'  Behold  your  Kixg!"  But  to  the  Jews  it  sounded 
like  shameful  scorn  to  call  that  beaten,  insulted  Sufferer 
their  King.  A  darker  stream  mingled  with  the  passions 
of  the  raging,  swaying  crowd.  Among  the  shouts  of  "  Cru- 
cify," ominous  threatenings  began  for  the  first  time  to  be 
mingled.  It  was  now  nine  o'clock,  and  for  nearly  three 
hours  had  they  been  raging  and  waiting  there.  The  name 
of  Cffisar  began  to  be  heard  in  wrathful  murmurs.  •  '*  Shall 
I  crucify  your  King?"  he  had  asked,  venting  the  rage  and 
soreness  of  his  heart  in  taunts  on  them.  '*  We  have  no 
Icing  but  Cmsar,"  answered  the  Sadducees  and  Priests, 
flinging  to  the  winds  every  national  impulse  and  every 
Messianic  hope.  "  If  thou  let  this  man  go,"  shouted  the 
mob  again  and  again,  "  thou  art  not  Ccesar'sinQn(\.  Every 
one  who  tries  to  make  himself  a  king  speaketh  against 
CcBsar."  And  at  that  dark  terrible  name  of  Caesar,  Pilate 
trembled.  It  was  a  name  to  conjure  with.  It  mastered 
him.  He  thought  of  that  terrible  implement  of  tyranny, 
the  accusation  of  laesa  majestas,  into  which  all  other 
charges  merged,  which  had  nnide  confiscation  and  torture 
so  common,  and  had  caused  blood  to  flow  like  water  in  the 
streets  of  Rome.  He  thought  of  Tiberius,  the  aged  gloomy 
Emperor,  then  hiding  at  Caprete  his  ulcerous  features,  his 
poisonous  suspicions,  his  sick  infamies,  his  desperate  re- 
venge. At  this  very  time  he  had  been  maddened  into  a 
yet  more  sanguinary  and  misanthropic  fei'ocity  by  the  de- 
tected falsity  and  treason  of  his  only  friend  and  minister, 
Sejanus,  and  it  was  to  Sejanus  himself  that  Pilate  is  said 
to  have  owed  his  position.  There  might  be  secret  delators 
in  that  very  mob.  Panic-stricken,  the  unjust  judge,  in 
obedience  to  his  own  terrors,  consciously  betrayed  the  inno- 
cent victim  to  the  anguish  of  death.  He  who  had  so  often 
prostituted  justice,  was  now  unable  to  achieve  the  one  act 
of  justice  which  he  desired.  He  who  had  so  often  mur^ 
dered  pity,  was  now  forbidden  to  taste  the  sweetness  of  a 
pity  for  which  he  longed.  He  who  had  so  often  abused 
authority,  was  now  rendered  impotent  to  exercise  it,  for 
once,  oil  the  side  of  right.     Truly  for  him,  sin  had  become 


JESUS  BEFORE  PILATE.  491 

its  own  Erinnys,  and  his  pleasant  vices  had  been  converted 
into  the  instrument  of  his  punishment  !  Did  the  solemn 
and  noble  words  of  the  Law  of  the  Twelve  Tables — "  Vanae 
voces  populi  non  sunt  audiendae,  quando  aut  noxium 
crimine  absolvi,  aut  innocentem  condemuari  desiderant" — 
come  across  his  memory  with  accents  of  reproach  as  he  de- 
livered Bar-Abbas  and  condemned  Jesus  ?  It  may  have 
been  so.  At  any  rate,  his  conscience  did  not  leave  him  at 
ease.  At  this,  or  some  early  period  of  the  trial,  he  went 
through  the  solemn  farce  of  trying  to  absolve  his  conscience 
from  the  guilt.  He  sent  for  water;  he  washed  his  hands 
before  the  multitude!  he  said,  "  lam  innocent  of  the  blood 
of  this  just  person;  see  ye  to  it."  Did  he  think  thus  to 
wash  away  his  guilt?  He  could  wash  his  hands;  could  he 
wash  his  heart?  Might  he  not  far  more  truly  have  said 
with  the  murderous  king  in  the  splendid  tragedy — 

"Can  all  old  Ocean's  waters  wasli  this  blood 

Clean  from  luy  hand  ?     Nay,  rather  would  this  hand 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 
Making  the  green — one  red  !" 

It  may  be  that,  as  he  thus  murdered  his  conscience,  such 
a  thought  flashed  for  one  moment  across  his  miserable 
mind,  in  the  words  of  his  native  poet: 

"  Ah  nimium  faciles  qui  tristia  crimina  caedis 
Fluminea  toUi  posse  putatis  aqua  !"    — Ovid,  Fast.  ii.  45. 

But  if  SO,  the  thought  was  instantly  drowned  in  a  yell, 
the  most  awful,  the  most  hideous,  the  most  memorable  that 
History  records.  "His  blood  be  on  us  and  on  our  cliildren." 
Then  Pilate  finally  gave  way.  The  fatal  "Ibis  ad  cniceni " 
was  uttered  with  reluctant  wrath.  He  delivered  Him  unto 
them,  that  He  might  be  crucified. 

And  now  mark,  for  one  moment,  the  revenges  of  History. 
Has  not  His  blood  been  on  them,  and  on  their  children  ? 
Has  it  Jiot  fallen  most  of  all  on  those  most  nearly  con- 
cerned in  that  deep  tragedy  ?  Before  the  dread  sacrifice 
was  consummated,  Judas  died  in  tlie  horrors  of  a  loath- 
some suicide.  Caiaphas  was  deposed  the  year  following. 
Herod  died  in  infamy  and  exile.  Stripped  of  his  Procura- 
torship  very  shortly  afterward,  on  the  very  charges  he  had 
tried  by  a  wicked  concession  to  avoid,  Pilate  wearied  out 


492  2'^^'  i^IJ^^^  ^^  CHRIST. 

witli  misfortunes,  died  in  suicide  and  banishment,  leaving 
behind  him  an  execrated  name.  The  house  of  Annas  was 
destroyed  a  generation  later  by  an  infuriated  mob,  and  his 
son  was  dragged  through  the  streets,  and  scourged  and 
beaten  to  liis  place  of  murder.  Some  of  those  who  shared 
in  and  witnessed  the  scenes  of  that  day — and  thousands  of 
their  children — also  sliared  in  and  witnessed  the  long  hor- 
rors of  that  siege  of  Jerusalem  which  stands  unparalleled  in 
history  for  its  unutterable  fearfulness.  **  It  seems,"  says 
Eenan,  "  as  though  tlie  whole  race  had  appointed  a  ren- 
dezvous for  extermination."  They  had  siiouted,  *'  We 
have  no  king  but  Caesar  ! "  and  they  had  no  king  but 
Csesar  ;  and  leaving  only  for  a  time  the  fantastic  shadow  of 
a  local  and  contemptible  loyalty,  Csesar  after  Caesar  out- 
raged, and  tyrannized,  and  pillaged,  and  oppressed  them, 
till  at  last  they  rose  in  wild  revolt  against  the  Cassar  whom 
they  had  claimed,  and  a  Caesar  slaked  in  tlie  blood  of  its 
best  defenders  the  red  ashes  of  their  burnt  and  desecrated 
Temple.  They  had  forced  the  Komans  to  crucify  their 
Christ,  and  though  they  regarded  this  punishment  with 
especial  horroi',  they  and  their  children  were  themselves 
crucified  in  myriads  by  the  Romans  outside  their  own 
Avails,  till  room  was  wanting  and  wood  failed,  and  the 
soldiers  had  to  ransack  a  fertile  inventiveness  of  cruelty 
for  fresh  methods  of  inflicting  this  insulting  form  of 
death.  They  had  given  thirty  pieces  of  silver  for  their 
Saviour's  blood,  and  they  were  themselves  sold  in  thousands 
for  yet  smaller  sums.  They  had  chosen  Bar- Abbas  in 
preference  to  their  Messiah,  and  for  them  there  has  been 
no  Messiah  more,  while  a  murderer's  dagger  swayed  the 
last  counsels  of  their  dying  nationality.  They  had  accepted 
the  guilt  of  blood,  and  the  last  pages  of  their  history  were 
glued  together  with  the  rivers  of  their  blood,  and  that 
blood  continued  to  be  shed  in  wanton  cruelties  from  age 
to  age.  They  who  will,  may  see  in  incidents  like  these  the 
mere  unmeaning  chances  of  History  ;  but  there  is  in  History 
nothing  unmeaning  to  one  who  regards  it  as  the  voice  of 
God  speaking  among  the  destinies  of  men  ;  and  whether  a 
man  sees  any  significance  or  not  in  events  like  these,  he 
must  be  blind  indeed  who  does  not  see  that  when  the 
murder  of  Christ  was  consummated,  the  ax  was  laid  at 
the  root  of  the  barren  tree  of  Jewish  nationality.     Since 


TBE  CRUCIFIXION.  493 

that  day  Jerusalem  and  its  environs,  with  their  ''ever- 
extending  miles  of  grave-stones  and  ever-lengthening  pave- 
ment of  tombs  and  sepulchers,"  have  become  little  more 
than  one  vast  cemetery — an  Aceldama,  a  field  of  blood,  a 
potter's  field  to  bury  strangers  in.  Like  the  mark  of  Cain 
upon  the  forehead  of  their  race,  the  guilt  of  that  blood  has 
seemed  to  cling  to  them — as  it  ever  must  until  that  same 
blood  effaceth  it.  For,  by  God's  meicy,  that  blood  was 
shed  for  them  also  who  made  it  flow  ;  the  voice  which  they 
strove  to  quench  in  death  was  uplifted  in  its  last  prayer 
for  pity  on  His  murderers.  May  that  blood  be  efficacious  ! 
may  that  prayer  be  heard  I 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

THE     C  KUC  I  FI  XION. 

"  I,  MILES,  EXPEDi  CRUCEM  "  {"  Go,  soldicr,  get  ready 
tlie  cross").  In  some  such  formula  of  terrible  import 
Pilate  must  have  given  his  final  order.  It  was  now  prob- 
ably about  nine  o'clock,  and  the  execution  followed  imme- 
diately upon  the  judgment.  The  time  required  for  the 
necessary  preparation  would  not  be  very  long,  and  during 
this  brief  pause  the  soldiers,  whose  duty  it  was  to  see  that 
the  sentence  was  carried  out,  stripped  Jesus  of  the  scarlet 
war-cloak,  now  dyed  with  the  yet  deeper  stains  of  blood, 
and  clad  Him  again  in  His  own  garments.  When  the 
cross  had  been  prepared  they  laid  it — or  possibly  only  one 
of  the  beams  of  it — upon  His  shoulders,  and  led  Him  to 
the  place  of  punishment.  The  nearness  of  the  great  feast, 
the  myriads  who  were  present  in  Jerusalem,  made  it  desir- 
able to  seize  the  opportunity  for  striking  terror  into  all 
Jewish  malefactors.  Two  were  therefore  selected  for  exe- 
cution at  the  same  time  with  Jesus — two  brigands  and 
rebels  of  the  lowest  stamp.  Their  crosses  were  laid  upon 
them,  a  maniple  of  soldiers  in  full  armor  were  marshaled 
under  the  command  of  their  centurion,  and,  amid  thou- 
sands of  spectators,  coldly  inquisitive  or  furiously  hostile, 
the  procession  started  on  its  way. 

The  cross  was  not,  and  could  not  have  been,  tlie  massive 
and  lofty  structure  with  which   such  myriads  of  pictures 


494  "rnE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

have  made  us  familiar.  Crucifixion  was  among  tlie  Romans 
a  very  common  punisliment,  and  it  is  clear  that  they  would 
not  waste  any  trouble  in  constructing  the  instrument  of 
shame  and  torture.  It  would  undoubtedly  be  made  of  the 
very  commonest  wood  that  came  to  hand,  perhaps  olive  or 
sycamore,  and  knocked  together  in  the  very  rudest  fashion. 
Still,  to  support  the  body  of  a  man,  a  cross  would  require 
to  be  of  a  certain  size  and  weight;  and  to  one  enfeebled  by 
the  horrible  severity  of  the  previous  scourging,  the  carry- 
ing of  such  a  burden  would  be  an  additional  misery.  But 
Jesus  was  enfeebled  not  only  by  this  cruelty,  but  by  pre- 
vious days  of  violent  struggle  and  agitation,  by  an  evening 
of  deep  and  overwhelming  emotion,  by  a  night  of  sleepless 
anxiety  and  suffering,  by  the  mental  agony  of  the  garden, 
hy  three  trials  and  three  sentences  of  death  before  the 
Jews,  by  the  long  and  exhausting  scenes  in  the  Praetorium, 
by  the  examination  before  Ilerod,  and  by  the  brutal  and 
painful  derisions  which  He  had  undergone,  first  at  the 
hands  of  the  Sanhedrin  and  tlieir  servants,  then  from 
Herod's  body-guard,  and  lastly  from  the  Eoman  cohort. 
All  these,  superadded  to  the  sickening  lacerations  of  the 
scourging,  had  utterly  broken  down  His  physical  strength. 
His  tottering  footsteps,  if  not  His  actual  falls  under  that 
fearful  load,  made  it  evident  that  he  lacked  the  physical 
strength  to  carry  it  from  the  Prtetorium  to  Golgotha. 
Even  if  they  did  not  pity  His  feebleness,  the  Roman  sol- 
diers would  naturally  object  to  the  consequent  hindrance 
and  delay.  But  they  found  an  easy  method  to  solve  the 
difficulty.  They  had  not  proceeded  further  than  the  city 
gate  when  they  met  a  man  coming  from  the  country,  who 
was  known  to  the  early  Christians  as  "  Simon  of  Gyrene, 
the  father  of  Alexander  and  Rufus  ;"  and,  perhaps  on 
some  hint  from  the  accompanying  Jews  that  Simon  sym- 
pathized with  the  teaching  of  the  Sufferer,  they  impressed 
him  without  the  least  scruple  into  their  odious  service. 

The  miserable  procession  resumed  its  course,  and  though 
the  apocryphal  traditions  of  the  Romish  Church  narrate 
many  incidents  of  the  Via  Dolorosa,  only  one  such  inci- 
dent is  recorded  in  the  Gospel  history.  St.  Luke  tells  us 
that  among  the  vast  multitude  of  people  who  followed 
Jesus  were  many  women.  From  the  men  in  that  moving 
crowd  He  does  not  appear  to  have  received  one  word  of 


THE  CRUCIFIXION.  496 

pity  or  of  sympathy.     Some  there  must  surely  have  been 
who  had   seen  His  miracles,   who   liad   heard   His  words  ; 
some  of  those  who  had   been   almost,  if   not  utterly,  con- 
vinced of   His  Messiahsliip  as  they   hung  upon   His  lips 
while  He  had  uttered  His  great  discourses  in  the  Temple  ; 
some  of  the  eager  crowd  who  had  accompanied  Him  from 
Bethlehem    five  days  before  with  shouted    Hosannas  and 
waving  palms.     Yet  if  so,  a  faithless  timidity  or  a  deep 
misgiving — perhaps  even  a  boundless  sorrow — kept  them 
dumb.     But  these  women,  more  quick  to  pity,  less  sus- 
ceptible to  controlling  influences,  could  not  and  would  not 
conceal  the  grief  and  amazement  with  which  this  spectacle 
filled  them.     They  beat  upon  their  breasts  and  rent  the  air 
with  their  lamentations,  till  Jesus  Himself  hushed  their 
shrill  cries  with   words  of  solemn  warning.     Turning  to 
them — which  He  could  not  have  done  had  he  still  been 
staggering  under  the    burden  of   His  cross — He    said    to 
them,  "  Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me;  but  for 
yourselves  weep,  and  for  your  children.     For,  lo!  days  are 
coming  in  which   they  shall  say.  Blessed  are  the  barren, 
and  the  wombs  which  bare  not,  and  the  breasts  which  gave 
not  suck.     Then   shall  they  begin  to  say  to  the  mount- 
ains, Fall  on  us,  and  to  the  hills.   Cover  us,  for  if  they 
do   these  things   in   the   green   tree,  what  shall   be  done 
in  the  dry?"     Theirs   was  but  an  emotional  outburst  of 
womanly  tenderness,  vvhicli  they  could  not  repress  as  they 
saw  the  great  Prophet  of  mankind  in  His  hour  of  shame 
and  weakness,  with  the  herald  proclaiming  before  Him  the 
crimes  with  which  He  was  charged,  and  the  Roman  soldiers 
carrying  the  title  of  derision,  and   Simon  bending  under 
the  "weight  of  the  wood  to  which  He  was  to  be  nailed.    But 
He  warned  them  that,  if  this   were  all  which  they  saw  in 
the  passing  spectacle,  far  bitterer  causes  of  woe  awaited 
them,  and  their  children,  and  their  race.     Many  of  them, 
and  the  majority  of  their  children,  would   live  to  see  such 
rivers  of  bloodshed,  such  complications  of   agony,  as  the 
world  had  never  known  before — days  which  would  seem  to 
overpass  the   capacities   of    human    suffei'ing,    and   would 
make  men  seek  to  hide  themselves,  if  it  might  be,  under 
the  very  roots  of  the  hill  on  which  their  city  stood.     The 
fig-tree  of  their  nation's  life  was  still  green:  if  such  deeds 
of  darkness  were  possible  vnw,  what  should  be  done  when 


40G  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRTST. 

that  tree  was  withered  and  blasted,  and  ready  for  the 
burning? — if  m  the  days  of  hope  and  decency  they  could 
execrate  their  blameless  Deliverer,  what  would  happen  in 
the  days  of  blasphemy  and  madness  and  despair?  If, 
under  the  full  light  of  day,  Priests  and  Scribes  could 
crucify  the  Innocent,  what  would  be  done  in  the  midnight 
orgies  and  blood-stained  bacchanalia  of  zealots  and  mur- 
derers? This  was  a  day  of  crime;  that  would  be  a  day 
when  Crime  had  become  her  own  avenging  fury.  The 
solemn  warning,  the  last  sermon  of  Christ  on  earth,  was 
meant  primarily  for  those  who  heard  it;  but,  like  all  the 
words  of  Christ,  it  has  deeper  and  wider  meaning  for  all 
mankind.  Those  words  warn  every  child  of  man  that  the 
day  of  careless  pleasure  and  blasphemous  disbelief  will  be 
followed  by  the  crack  of  doom  ;  they  warn  each  human 
being  who  lives  in  pleasure  on  the  earth,  and  eats,  and 
drinks,  and  is  drunken,  that  though  the  patience  of  God 
waits,  and  His  silence  is  unbroken,  yet  the  days  shall  come 
when  He  shall  speak  in  thunder,  and  His  Avrath  shall  burn 
like  fire. 

And  so  with  this  sole  sad  episode,  they  came  to  the  fatal 
place,  called  Golgotha,  or,  in  its  Latin  form,  Calvary  — 
that  is,  "a  skull."  Why  it  was  so  called  is  not  known. 
It  may  conceivably  have  been  a  well-known  place  of  execu- 
tion; or  possibly  the  name  may  imply  a  bare,  rounded, 
scalp-like  elevation.  It  is  constantly  called  the  "hill  of 
Golgotha,"  or  of  Calvary;  but  the  Gospels  merely  call  it 
"  a  place,"  and  not  a  hill  (Matt,  xxvii.  33;  Mark  xv.  22). 
Eespecting  its  site  volumes  have  been  written,  but  nothing 
is  known.  The  data  for  anything  approaching  to  cer- 
tainty are  wholly  wanting :  and,  in  all  probability,  the 
actual  spot  lies  buried  and  obliterated  under  the  mountain- 
ous rubbish-heaps  of  the  ten-times-taken  city.  The  rug- 
ged and  precipitous  mountain  represented  in  sacred  pictures 
is  as  purely  imaginary  as  the  skull  of  Adam,  which  is  often 
painted  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  or  as  any  other  of 
the  myriad  of  legends,  which  have  gathered  round  this 
most  stupendous  and  moving  scene  in  the  world's  history. 
All  that  we  know  of  Golgotha,  all  that  we  shall  ever  know, 
all  that  God  willed  to  be  kjiown,  is  that  it  was  without  the 
city  gate.  The  religion  of  Christ  is  spiritual;  it  needs  no 
relic;  it  is  independent  of  Holy  Places;  it  says  to  each  of 


TBE  cnUCIFIXION.  497 

its  children,  not  "  Lo,  liere!"  and  "ho,  there!"  but 
"  The  kingdom  of  God  is  within  you." 

Utterly  brutal  and  revolting  as  was  the  punishment  of 
crucifixion,  which  has  now  for  fifteen  hundred  years  been 
abolished  by  the  common  pity  and  abhorrence  of  mankind, 
there  was  one  custom  in  Judsea,  and  one  occasionally 
practiced  by  the  Romans,  which  reveals  some  touch  of  pass- 
ing humanity.  The  latter  consisted  in  giving  to  the  suf- 
ferer a  blow  under  the  arm-pit,  which,  without  causing 
death,  yet  hastened  its  approach.  Of  this  I  need  not 
speak,  because,  for  whatever  reason,  it  was  not  practiced 
on  this  occasion.  The  former,  which  seems  to  have  been 
due  to  the  milder  nature  of  Judaism,  and  which  was 
derived  from  a  happy  piece  of  Rabbinic  exegesis  on  Prov. 
xxxi.  6,  consisted  in  giving  to  the  condemned,  immediately 
before  his  execution,  a  draught  of  wine  medicated  with 
some  powerful  opiate.  It  had  been  the  custom  of  wealthy 
ladies  in  Jerusalem  to  provide  this  stupefying  potion  at 
their  own  expense,  and  they  did  so  quite  irresj^ectively  of 
their  sympathy  for  any  individual  criminal.  It  was  prob- 
ably taken  freely  by  the  two  malefactors,  but  when  they 
offered  it  to  Jesus  He  would  not  take  it.  The  refusal  was 
an  act  of  sublimest  heroism.  The  effect  of  the  draught 
was  to  dull  the  nerves,  to  cloud  the  intellect,  to  provide  an 
anaesthetic  against  some  part,  at  least,  of  the  lingering 
agonies  of  that  dreadful  death.  But  He,  whom  some 
modern  skeptics  have  been  base  enough  to  accuse  of  femi- 
nine feebleness  and  cowardly  desj^air,  preferred  rather  "  to 
look  Death  in  the  face " —  to  meet  the  King  of  Terrors 
without  striving  to  deaden  the  force  of  one  agonizing  an- 
ticipation, or  to  still  the  throbbing  of  one  lacerated  nerve. 

The  three  crosses  were  laid  on  the  ground — that  of  Jes^is, 
which  was  doubtless  taller  than  the  other  two,  being- 
placed  in  bitter  scorn  in  the  midst.  Perhaps  the  cross- 
beam was  now  nailed  to  the  upright,  and  certainly  the  title, 
which  had  either  been  borne  by  Jesus  fastened  round  His 
neck,  or  carried  by  one  of  the  soldiers  in  front  of  Ilim,  was 
now  nailed  to  the  summit  of  His  cross.  Then  He  wasstripped 
naked  of  all  His  clothes,  and  then  followed  the  most  awful 
moment  of  all.  He  was  laid  down  upon  the  implement  of 
torture.  His  arms  were  stretched  along  the  ci'oss-beaujs, 
and  at  the  centre  of  the  open   palms  the  point  of  a  huge 


498  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

iron  nail  was  placed,  which,  by  the  blow  of  a  mallet,  was 
driven  home  into  the  wood.  Then  through  either  foot 
separately,  or  possibly  through  both  together  as  they  were 
placed  one  over  the  other,  another  huge  nail  tore  its  way 
through  the  quivering  flesh.  Whether  the  sufferer  was 
also  bound  to  the  cross  we  do  not  know  ;  but,  to  prevent 
the  hands  and  feet  being  torn  away  by  the  weight  of  the 
body,  which  could  not  "  rest  upon  nothing  but  four  great 
wounds,"  there  was,  about  the  center  of  the  cross,  a 
wooden  projection  strong  enough  to  support,  at  least 
in  part,  a  human  body  which  soon  became  a  weight  of 
agony. 

It  was  probably  at  this  moment  of  inconceivable  horror 
that  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  Man  was  heard  uplifted,  not 
in  a  scream  of  natural  agony  at  that  fearful  torture,  but 
calmly  praying  in  Divine  compassion  for  His  brutal  and 
pitiless  murderers — ay,  and  for  all  who  in  their  sinful 
ignorance  crucify  Him  afresh  forever —  "  Father,  fokgive 

THEM,  FOR  THEY  KNOW  NOT  WHAT  THEY  DO." 

And  then  the  accursed  tree — with  its  living  human 
burden  hanging  upon  it  in  helpness  agony,  and  suffering 
fresh  tortures  as  every  movement  irritated  the  fresh  rents  in 
hands  and  feet — was  slowly  heaved  up  by  strong  arms,  and 
the  end  of  it  fixed  firmly  in  a  hole  dug  deep  in  the  ground 
for  that  purpose.  The  feet  were  but  a  little  raised  above 
the  earth.  The  victim  was  in  full  reach  of  every  iiaud 
that  might  choose  to  strike,  in  close  proximity  to  every 
gesture  of  insult  and  hatred.  He  might  hang  for  hours  to 
be  abused,  outraged,  even  tortured  by  the  ever- moving 
multitude  who,  with  that  desire  to  see  what  is  horrible 
which  always  characterizes  the  coarsest  hearts,  had 
thronged  to  gaze  upon  a  sight  which  should  rather  have 
made  them  weep  tears  of  blood. 

And  there,  in  tortures  which  grew  ever  more  insupport- 
able, ever  more  maddening  as  time  flowed  on,  the 
unhappy  victims  might  linger  in  a  living  death  so  cruelly 
intolerable,  that  often  they  were  driven  to  entreat  and 
implore  the  spectators,  or  the  executioners,  for  dear  pity's 
sake,  to  put  an  end  to  anguish  too  awful  for  men  to  bear 
— conscious  to  the  last,  and  often,  with  tears  of  abject 
misery,  beseeching  from  their  enemies  the  priceless  boon 
of  death. 


THE  CRUCIFIXION.  499 

For  indeed  a  death  by  crucifixion  seems  to  include  all 
that  pain  and  death  can  have  of  horrible  and  ghastly — dizzi- 
ness, cramp,  thirst,  starvation,  sleeplessness,  traumatic 
fever,  tetanus,  publicity  of  shame,  long  continuance  of 
torment,  horror  of  anticipation,  mortification  of  untended 
wounds — all  intensified  just  up  to  the  point  at  which  they 
can  be  endured  at  all,  but  all  stopping  just  short  of  the 
point  which  would  give  to  the  sufferer  the  relief  of  un- 
consciousness. The  unnatural  position  made  every  move- 
ment painful  ;  the  lacerated  veins  and  crushed  tendons 
throbbed  with  incessant  anguish  ;  the  wounds,  inflamed  by 
exposure,  gradually  gangrened  ;  the  arteries — especially  of 
the  head  arid  stomach — became  swollen  and  oppressed  with 
surcharged  blood  ;  and  while  each  variety  of  misery  went 
on  gradually  increasing,  there  was  added  to  them  the 
intolerable  pang  of  burning  and  raging  thirst ;  and  all  these 
physical  complications  caused  an  internal  excitement  and 
anxiety,  which  made  the  prospect  of  death  itself — of 
death,  the  awful  unknown  enemy,  at  whose  approach  man 
usually  shudders  most — bear  tlie  aspect  of  a  delicious  and 
exquisite  release. 

Such  was  the  death  to  which  Christ  was  doomed ;  and 
though  for  Him  it  was  happily  shortened  by  all  that  He 
had  previously  endured,  yet  He  hung  from  soon  after  noon 
until  nearlv  sunset,  before  "  He  gave  up  His  soul  to 
death." 

When  the  cross  was  uplifted,  the  leading  Jews,  for  the 
first  time,  prominently  noticed  the  deadly  insult  in  which 
Pilate  had  vented  his  indignation.  Before,  in  their  blind 
rage,  they  had  imagined  that  the  manner  of  His  crucifixion 
was  an  insult  aimed  at  Jesus  ;  but  now  that  they  saw  Him 
hanging  between  the  two  robbers,  on  a  cross  yet  loftier,  it 
suddenly  flashed  upon  them  that  it  was  a  public  scorn 
inflicted  upon  them.  For  on  the  white  wooden  tablet 
smeared  with  gypsum,  which  was  to  be  seen  so  con- 
spicuously over  tlie  head  of  Jesus  on  the  cross,  ran,  in 
blaci<  letters,  an  inscription  in  the  civilized  languages  of 
the  ancient  world — the  tliree  languages  of  which  one  at 
least  was  certain  to  be  known  by  every  single  man  in  that 
assembled  multitude — in  the  official  Latin,  in  the  current 
Greek,  in  the  vernacular  Ai-aniuic — informing  all  that  this 
Man  who  was  thus  enduring  a  shameful,  servile  death — 


500  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

this  Man  thus  crucified  between  two  sicarii  iu  the  sight  of 
the  workl,  was 

"THE    KING    OF   THE    JEWS." 

To  Him  who  was  crucified  the  poor  malice  seemed  to  have 
in  it  nothing  of  derision.  Even  on  liis  cross  He  reigned  : 
even  there  He  seemed  divinely  elevated  above  the  priests 
who  had  brought  about  His  deatli,  and  the  coarse,  idle, 
vulgar  multitude  who  had  flocked  to  feed  their  greedy  eyes 
upon  His  sufferings.  The  malice  was  quite  impotent 
against  One  whose  spiritual  and  moral  nobleness  struck 
awe  into  dying  malefactors  and  heathen  executioners,  even 
iu  the  lowest  abyss  of  His  physical  degradation.  With  the 
passionate  ill-humor  of  the  Eomau  governor  there  probably 
blended  a  vein  of  seriousness.  While  he  was  delighted  to 
revenge  himself  on  iiis  detested  subjects  by  an  act  of  public 
insolence,  he  probably  meant,  or  half-meant,  to  imply  that 
this  was,  in  one  sense,  the  King  of  the  Jews — the  greatest, 
the  noblest,  the  truest  of  His  race — whom,  therefore,  His 
race  had  crucified.  Tiie  King  was  not  unworthy  of  His 
kingdom,  but  tlie  kingdom  of  the  King.  There  was  some- 
thing loftier  even  than  royalty  in  the  glazing  eyes  which 
never  ceased  to  look  with  sorrow  on  the  City  of  Kighteous- 
ness,  which  had  now  become  a  city  of  murderers.  The 
Jews  felt  the  intensity  of  the  scorn  with  which  Pilate 
had  treated  them.  It  so  completelypoisoned  their  hour  of 
triumph  that  they  sent  their  chief  priests  in  deputation, 
begging  the  Governor  to  alter  the  obnoxious  title. 
"Write  not,"  they  said,  '"The  King  of  the  Jews,'  but 
that  '  He  said,  I  am  the  King  of  the  Jews.'  "  But  Pilate's 
courage,  which  had  oozed  away  so  rapidly  at  the  name  of 
('fesar,  had  now  revived.  He  was  glad  in  any  and  every 
way  to  browbeat  and  thwart  the  men  whose  seditious 
clamor  had  forced  him  in  the  morning  to  act  against 
his  will.  Few  men  had  the  power  of  giving  expression  to 
a  sovereign  contempt  more  effectually  than  the  Romans. 
AVithout  deigning  any  justification  of  what  he  had  done, 
Pilate  summarily  dismissed  these  solemn  heirarchswith  the 
curt  and  contemptuous  reply,  "  What  I  have  written,  I 
have  written." 

In  order  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  any  rescue,  even  at 
the  last  moment — since  instances  had  been  known  of  men 


THE  CRUCIFIXION.  501 

taken  from  the  cross  and  restored  to  life — a  quaternion  of 
soldiers  with  their  centurion  were  left  on  the  ground  to 
guard  the  cross.  The  clothes  of  the  victims  always  fell  as 
perquisites  to  the  men  who  had  to  perform  so  weary  and 
disagreeable  an  office.  Little  dreaming  how  exactly  they 
were  fulfilling  the  mystic  intimations  of  olden  Jewish 
prophecy,  they  proceeded,  therefore,  to  divide  between 
them  the  garments  of  Jesus.  The  taUith  they  tore  into 
four  parts,  probably  ripping  it  down  the  seams  (Deut.  xxii. 
12);  but  the  cetoneih,  or  under  garment,  was  formed  of  one 
continuous  woven  texture,  and  to  tear  would  have  been  to 
spoil  it ;  they  therefore  contented  themselves  with  letting 
it  become  the  property  of  any  one  of  the  four  to  whom  it 
should  fall  by  lot.  When  this  had  been  decided,  they  sat 
down  and  wa^tched  Him  till  the  end,  beguiling  the  weary, 
lingering  hours  by  eating  and  drinking,  and  gibing,  and 
playing  dice. 

It  was  a  scene  of  tumult.  The  great  body  of  the  people 
seem  to  have  stood  silently  at  gaze  ;  but  some  few  of  them 
as  they  passed  by  the  cross — perhaps  some  of  the  many 
false  witnesses  and  other  conspirators  of  the  previous  night 
— mocked  at  Jesus  with  insulting  noises  and  furious  taunts, 
especially  bidding  Him  come  down  from  the  cross  and  save 
Himself,  since  He  could  destroy  tlie  Temple  and  build  it 
in  three  days.  And  the  chief  priests,  and  scribes,  and 
elders,  less  awe-struck,  less  compassionate  than  the  mass 
of  the  people,  were  not  ashamed  to  disgrace  their  gray- 
haired  dignity  and  lofty  reputation  by  adding  their  heart- 
less reproaches  to  those  of  the  evil  few.  Unrestrained  by 
the  noble  patience  of  the  Sufferer,  unsated  by  tlie  accom- 
plishment of  their  wicked  vengeance,  unmoved  by  the 
sight  of  helpless  anguish  and  the  look  of  eyes  that  began 
to  glaze  in  death,  they  congratulated  one  another  under 
His  cross  with  scornful  insolence — "  He  saved  others. 
Himself  He  cannot  save."  "  Let  this  Christ,  this  King  of 
Israel,  descend  now  from  the  cross,  that  we  may  see  and 
believe."  No  wonder  then  that  the  ignorant  soldiers  took 
their  share  of  mockery  with  these  sliameless  and  unvener- 
able  hierarchs;  no  wonder  that,  at  tlieir  midday  meal,  they 
pledged  in  mock  hilarity  the  Dying  Man,  crnolly  liolding 
up  toward  His  burning  lips  their  cups  of  sour  wine,  and 
echoing  the  Jewish  taunts  aoaiust   the   weakness   of  the 


502  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

King  whose  throne  was  a  cross,  wliose  crown  was  thorns. 
Nay,  even  the  poor  wretches  who  were  crucified  with  Him 
caught  the  hideous  infection  ;  comrades,  perhaps  of  the 
respited  Bar- Abbas — heirs  of  the  rebellions  fury  of  a  Judas 
the  Gaulonite — trained  to  recognize  no  Messiah  but  a 
Messiah  of  the  sword,  they  reproachfully  bade  Him,  if  His 
claims  were  true,  to  save  Himself  and  them.  So  all  the 
voices  about  Him  rang  with  blasphemy  and  spite,  and  in 
that  long,  slow  agony  His  dying  ear  caught  no  accent  of 
gratitude,  of  pity,  or  of  love.  Baseness,  falsehood,  sav- 
agery, stupidity  —  such  were  the  chai'acteristics  of  the 
world  which  thrust  itself  into  hideous  prominence  before 
the  Saviour's  last  consciousness  —  such  the  muddy  and 
miserable  stream  that  rolled  under  the  cross  before  His 
dying  eyes. 

But  amid  this  chorus  of  infamy  Jesus  spoke  not.  He 
could  have  spoken.  The  pains  of  crucifixion  did  not 
confuse  the  intellect,  or  paralyze  the  powers  of  speech. 
We  read  of  crucified  men  who,  for  hours  together  upon 
the  cross,  vented  their  sorrow,  their  rage,  or  their  despair 
in  the  manner  that  best  accorded  with  their  character;  of 
some  who  raved  and  cursed,  and  spat  at  their  enemies  ;  of 
others  who  protested  to  the  last  against  the  iniquity  of 
their  sentence  ;  of  others  who  implored  compassion  with 
abject  entreaties;  of  one  even  who,  from  the  cross  as  from 
a  tribunal,  harangued  the  multitude  of  his  countrymen, 
and  upbraided  them  with  their  wickedness  and  vice. 
But,  except  to  bless  and  to  encourage,  and  to  add  to  the 
happiness  and  hope  of  others,  Jesus  spoke  not.  So  far 
as  the  malice  of  the  passers  by,  and  of  piiests  and  San- 
hedrists,  and  soldiers,  and  of  these  poor  robbers,  who 
suffered  with  Him,  was  concerned — as  before  during  the 
trial  so  now  upon  the  cross — He  maintained  unbroken  His 
kingly  silence. 

But  that  silence,  joined  to  His  patient  majesty  and  the 
divine  holiness  and  innocence  which  radiated  from  Him  like 
a  halo,  was  more  eloquent  tiian  any  words.  It  told  earliest 
on  one  of  the  crucified  robbers.  At  first  this  "  bonus 
latro"  of  the  Apocryphal  Gospel  seems  to  have  faintly 
joined  in  the  reproaches  uttered  by  his  fellow-sinner;  but 
when  those  I'eproachcs  mei'ged  into  deeper  blasphemy,  lie 
spoke  out  his  inmost  thought.     It  is  probable  that  he  had 


THE  CRUCIFIXION.  503 

met  Jesus  before,  and  heard  Him,  and  perhaps  been  one 
of  those  thousands  who  had  seen  His  miracles.  There  is 
indeed  no  authority  for  the  legend  which  assigns  to  him 
the  name  of  Dysmas,  or  for  the  beautiful  story  of  his  having 
saved  the  life  of  the  Virgin  and  her  Child  during  their 
flight  into  Egypt.  But  on  the  plains  of  Gennesareth, 
peihaps  from  some  robber's  cave  in  the  wild  ravines  of  the 
Valley  of  the  Doves,  he  may  well  have  approached  His 
presence — he  may  well  have  been  one  of  those  publicans 
and  sinners  who  drew  near  to  Him  for  to  hear  Him.  And 
the  words  of  Jesus  had  found  some  room  in  the  good 
ground  of  his  heart  ;  they  had  not  all  fallen  upon  stony 
places.  Even  at  this  hour  of  shame  and  death,  when  he 
Avas  suffering  the  just  consequence  of  his  past  evil  deeds, 
faith  triumphed.  As  a  flame  sometimes  leaps  up  among 
dying  embers,  so  amid  the  white  ashes  of  a  sinful  life 
which  lay  so  thick  upon  his  heart,  the  flame  of  love 
toward  his  God  and  his  Saviour  was  not  quite  quenched. 
Under  the  hellish  outcries  wliich  had  broken  loose  around 
the  cross  of  Jesus,  there  had  lain  a  deep  misgiving.  Half  of 
them  seem  tc  have  been  instigated  by  doubt  and  fear. 
Even  in  the  self-congratulations  of  the  priests  we  catch  an 
undertone  of  dread.  Suppose  that  even  now  some  impos- 
ing miracle  should  be  wrought?  Suppose  that  even  now 
that  martyr-form  should  burst  indeed  into  Messianic  splen- 
dor, and  the  King,  who  seemed  to  be  in  the  slow  misery 
of  death,  should  suddenly  with  a  great  voice  summon  His 
legions  of  angels,  and  springing  from  His  cross  upon  the 
rolling  clouds  of  heaven,  come  in  flaming  fire  to  take 
vengeance  upon  His  enemies  ?  And  the  air  seemed  to  be 
full  of  signs.  There  was  a  gloom  of  gathering  darkness 
in  the  sky,  a  thrill  and  tremor  in  the  solid  earth,  a  haunt- 
ing presence  as  of  ghostly  visitants  who  chilled  the  heart 
and  hovered  in  awful  witness  above  that  scene.  The 
dying  robber  had  joined  at  first  in  the  hulf-taunting,  half- 
despairing  appeal  to  a  defeat  and  weakness  which  con- 
tradicted" all  that  he  had  hoped;  but  now  this  defeat 
seemed  to  be  greater  than  victory,  and  this  weakness  more 
irresistible  than  strengtli.  As  lie  looked,  the  faith  in  his 
heart  dawned  more  and  more  into  the  jjcrfect  day.  He 
had  long  ceased  to  utter  any  reproacliful  words;  he  now 
rebuked  his  comrade's  blasi)hemies.     Ought  not  the  suffer- 


504  TUE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

iiig  innocence  of  Ilini  wlio  hung  between  them,  to  shame 
into  silence  their  just  punishment  and  flagrant  guilt  ?  And 
so,  turning  liisheadto  Jesus,  he  uttered  the  intense  appeal, 
"  0  Jesus,  remember  me  when  Tliou  comest  in  Thy  king- 
dom." Then  He,  who  had  been  mute  amid  invectives, 
spake  at  once  in  snpassing  answer  to  that  humble  prayer, 
"  Verily,  I  say  to  thee,  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with 
Me  in  Paradise." 

Though  none  spoke  to  comfort  Jesus  —  though  deep 
grief,  and  terror,  and  amazement  kept  them  dumb — yet 
there  were  hearts  amid  the  cuowd  that  beat  in  sympathy 
with  the  awful  Sufferer.  At  a  distance  stood  a  number  of 
women  looking  on,  and  perhaps,  even  at  that  dread  hour, 
expecting  His  immediate  deliverance.  MaTiy  of  these  were 
Avomen  who  had  ministered  to  IHm  in  Galilee,  and  had 
come  from  thence  in  the  great  band  of  Galilajan  pilgrims. 
Conspicuous  among  this  heart-stricken  group  were  His 
mother  Mary,  Mary  of  Magdala,  Mary  the  wife  of  Clopas, 
mother  of  James  and  Joses,  and  Salome  the  wife  of 
Zebedce.  Some  of  them,  as  the  hours  advanced,  stole  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  cross,  and  at  length  tiie  filming  eye  of 
the  Saviour  fell  on  His  own  mother  Mary,  as,  with  the 
sword  piercing  through  and  through  her  heart,  she  stood 
with  the  disciple  whom  He  loved.  His  motiier  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  much  with  Him  during  His  ministry. 
It  mav  be  that  the  duties  and  cares  of  a  humble  home 
rendered  it  impossible.  At  any  rate,  the  only  occasions 
on  which  we  hear  of  her  are  occasions  when  she  is  with 
His  brethren,  and  is  joined  with  them  in  endeavoring 
to  influence,  apart  from  His  own  purposes  and  authority. 
His  Messianic  course.  But  although  at  the  very  be- 
ginning of  His  ministry  He  had  gently  shown  her  that 
the  earthly  and  filial  relation  was  now  to  be  transcended 
by  one  far  more  lofty  and  divine,  and  though  this  end  of  all 
her  high  hopes  must  have  tried  her  faith  with  an  over- 
whelming and  unspeakable  sorrow,  yet  s'he  was  true  to 
Him  in  this  supreme  hour  of  His  humiliation,  and  would 
liave  done  for  Him  all  that  a  mother's  sympathy  and  love 
can  do.  Nor  ha<l  He  for  a  moment  forgotten  her  who  had 
bent  over  His  infant  slumbers,  and  with  whom  He  had 
shared  those  thirty  yeai's  in  the  cottage  at  Nazareth.  Ten- 
derly and  sadly  He  "thought  of  the  future  that  awaited  her 


THE  CR  UGIFIXION.  505 

during  the  remaining  years  of  her  life  on  eartli,  troubled 
as  they  must  be  by  the  tumults  and  persecutions  of  a 
struggling  and  nascent  faith.  After  His  resurrection  her 
lot  was  wholly  cast  among  His  Apostles,  and  the  Apostle 
whom  He  loved  the  most,  the  Apostle  who  was  nearest  to 
Him  in  heart  and  life  seemed  the  fittest  to  take  care  of 
her.  To  him,  therefore — to  John  whom  He  had  loved 
more  than  His  brethren — to  John  whose  head  had  leaned 
upon  His  breast  at  the  Last  Supper — He  consigned  her  as 
a  sacred  charge.  ''Woman,"  He  said  to  her,  in  fewest 
words,  but  in  words  which  breathed  the  uttermost  spirit  of 
tenderness,  "Behold  thy  son;  "and  then  to  St.  John, 
"Behold  thy  mother."  He  could  make  no  gesture 
with  those  pierced  hands,  but  He  could  bend  liis  head. 
They  listened  in  speechless  emotion,  but  from  that  hour — 
perhaps  from  that  very  moment — leading  her  away  from  a 
spectacle  which  did  but  torture  her  soul  with  unavailing 
agony,  that  disciple  took  her  to  his  own  home. 

It  "was  now  noon,  and  at  the  Holy  City  the  sunshine 
should  have  been  burning  over  that  scene  of  horror  with  a 
power  such  as  it  lias  m  the  full  depth  of  an  English 
summer-time.  But  instead  of  this,  the  face  of  the  heavens 
was  black,  and  the  noonday  sun  was  "  turned  into  dark- 
ness," on  "this  great  and  terrible  day  of  tlieLord."  It 
could  have  been  no  darkness  of  any  natural  eclipse,  for  the 
Paschal  moon  was  at  tlie  full;  but  it  was  one  of  those 
"signs  from  heaven"  for  which,  during  the  ministry  of 
Jesus,  the  Pharisees  had  so  often  clamored  in  vain.  The 
early  Fathers  appealed  to  Pagan  authorities — the  historian 
Phallus,  the  chronicler  Plilegon— for  such  a  darkness  ;  but 
we  have  no  means  of  testing  the  accuracy  of  these  refer- 
ences, and  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  darkness  vvas  a  local 
gloom  which  hung  densely  over  the  guilty  city  and  its 
immediate  neighborhood.  But  whatever  it  was,  it  clearly 
filled  the  minds  of  all  who  beheld  it  with  yet  deeper  mis- 
giving. The  taunts  and  jeers  of  the  Jewish  priests  and 
the  heathen  soldiers  were  evidently  confined  to  the  earlier 
hours  of  the  crucifixion.  Its  later  stages  seem  to  have 
thrilled  alike  the  guilty  and  the  innocent  with  emotions  of 
dread  and  horror.  Of  the  incidents  of  those  last  three 
hours  we  are  told  nothing,  and  that  awful  obscuration  of 
the  noonday  sun  may  well  have  overawed  every  heart  into 


506  'J^^E  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ail  inaction  respecting  wliicli  there  was  nothing  to  relate. 
What  Jesus  suffered  then,  for  us  men  and  our  salvation  we 
cannot  know,  for  during  those  three  hours  He  hung  upon 
His  cross  in  silence  and  darkness  ;  or,  if  He  spoke,  there 
were  none  there  to  record  His  words.  But  toward  the 
close  of  that  time  His  anguish  culminated,  and — emptied 
to  the  very  uttermost  of  that  glory  which  He  had  since  the 
world  began — drinking  to  the  very  deepest  dregs  the  cup 
of  humiliation  and  bitterness — enduring,  not  only  to  have 
taken  upon  Him  the  form  of  a  servant,  but  also  to  suffer 
the  last  infamy  which  human  hatred  could  impose  on 
servile  helplessness — He  uttered  that  mysterious  cry,  of 
which  the  full  significance  will  never  be  fathomed  by 
man — 

"Eli,  Eli,  lama  sabachthani  ?"  (My  God,  my  God, 
why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  ") 

In  those  words,  quoting  the  Psalm  in  which  the  early 
Fathers  rightly  saw  a  far-off  prophecy  of  the  whole  passion 
of  Christ,  He  borrowed  from  David's  utter  agony  the 
expression  of  His  own.  In  that  hour  He  was  alone. 
Sinking  from  depth  to  depth  of  unfathomable  snffeiing  until, 
at  the  close  approach  of  a  death  which — because  He  was 
God,  and  yet  had  been  made  man — was  more  awful  to  Him 
than  it  could  ever  be  to  any  of  the  sons  of  men,  it  seemed 
as  if  even  His  Divine  Humanity  could  endure  no  more. 

Doubtless  the  voice  of  the  Sufferer — though  uttered 
loudly  in  that  paroxysm  of  an  emotion  which,  in  another, 
would  almost  have  touched  the  verge  of  despair — was  yet 
rendered  more  uncertain  and  indistinct  from  the  condition 
of  exhaustion  in  which  He  hung  ;  and  so,  amid  the  dark- 
ness, and  confused  noise,  and  dull  footsteps  of  the  moving 
multitude,  there  were  some  who  did  not  hear  what  He  had 
said.  They  had  caught  only  the  first  syllable,  and  said  to 
one  another  that  He  had  called  on  the  name  of  Elijah. 
The  readiness  with  which  they  seized  this  false  impression 
is  another  proof  of  the  wild  state  of  excitement  and  terror 
— the  involuntary  dread  of  something  great,  and  unfore- 
seen, and  terrible — to  which  they  had  been  reduced  from 
their  former  savage  insolence.  For  Elijah,  the  great 
prophet  of  the  Old  Covenant,  was  inextricably  mingled 
with  all  the  Jewish  expectations  of  a  Messiah,  and  these 
expectations  were  full  of  wrath.     Tiie  coming  of  Elijah 


THE  CRUCIFIXION.  507 

would  be  the  coming  of  a  day  of  fire,  in  which  the  sun 
should  be  turned  into  blackness  and  the  moon  into  blood, 
and  the  powers  of  heaven  should  be  sliuken.  Already  the 
noonday  sun  was  shrouded  in  unnatural  eclipse  ;  might  not 
some  awful  form  at  any  moment  rend  the  heavens  and 
come  down,  touch  the  mountains  and  they  should  smoke  ? 
The  vague  anticipation  of  conscious  guilt  was  unfulfilled. 
Not  such  as  yet  was  to  be  the  method  of  God's  workings. 
His  messages  to  man  for  many  ages  more  wei'e  not  to  be  in 
the  thunder  and  earthquake,  not  in  rushing  wind  or  roar- 
ing flame,  but  in  tlie  "still  small  voice"  speaking  always 
amid  the  apparent  silences  of  Time  in  whispers  intelligible 
to  man's  heart,  but  in  which  there  is  neither  speech  nor 
language,  though  the  voice  is  heard. 

But  now  the  end  was  very  rapidly  approaching,  and 
Jesus,  who  had  been  hanging  for  nearly  six  hours  upon  the 
cross,  was  suffering  from  that  torment  of  thirst  which  is 
most  difficult  of  all  for  the  luunan  frame  to  bear — perhaps 
tlie  most  unmitigated  of  the  many  separate  sources  of 
anguish  which  were  combined  in  this  worst  form  of  death. 
No  doubt  this  burning  thirst  was  aggravated  by  seeing  the 
Roman  soldiers  drinking  so  near  the  cross;  and  happily  for 
mankind,  Jesus  had  never  sanctioned  the  unnatural  affec- 
tation of  stoic  impassibility.  And  so  He  uttered  the  one 
sole  word  of  physical  suffering  which  had  been  wrung  from 
Him  by  all  the  hours  in  which  He  had  endured  the  ex- 
treme of  all  that  man  can  inflict.  He  cried  aloud,  "I 
Thirst."  Probably  a  few  hours  before,  the  cry  would 
only  have  provoked  a  roar  of  frantic  mockery;  but  now 
the  lookers-on  were  reduced  by  awe  to  a  readier  humanity. 
Near  the  cross  there  lay  on  the  ground  the  large  earthen 
vessel  containing  i\\e 2^osca,  which  was  the  ordinary  drink 
of  the  Roman  soldiers.  The  mouth  of  it  was  filled  with  a 
piece  of  sponge,  which  served  as  a  cork.  Instantly  some 
one  —  we  know  not  whether  he  was  friend  or  enemy,  or 
merely  one  who  was  there  out  of  idle  curiosity — took  out 
the  sponge  and  dipped  it  in  the  posca  to  give  it  to  Jesus. 
But  low  as  was  the  elevation  of  the  cross,  the  head  of  the 
Sufferer,  as  it  rested  on  the  horizontal  beam  of  the  accursed 
tree,  was  just  beyond  the  man's  reach;  and  therefore  he 
put  the  s])ong(!  at  the  end  of  a  stalk  of  hyssop — about  a 
foot  long — and  held  it  up  to  the  })arched  and  dying  lips. 


508  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Even  this  simple  act  of  pity,  which  Jesus  did  not  refuse, 
seemed  to  jar  upon  the  condition  of  nervous  excitement 
with  which  some  of  the  multitude  were  looking  on.  "  Let 
be,"  they  said  to  tlie  man,  'Met  us  see  whether  Elias  is 
coming  to  save  Him."  The  man  did  not  desist  from  his 
act  of  mercy,  but  when  it  was  done  he  too  seems  to  have 
echoed  those  uneasy  words.  But  Elias  came  not,  nor 
human  comforter,  nor  angel  deliverer.  It  was  the  will  of 
God,  it  was  the  will  of  the  Son  of  God,  that  He  should  be 
•'perfected  through  sufferings;''  that — for  the  eternal  ex- 
ample of  all  His  children  as  long  as  the  world  should  last 
— He  should  "  endure  unto  the  end." 

And  now  tiie  end  was  come.  Once  more,  in  the  words 
of  the  sweet  Psalmist  of  Israel  (Psa.  xxxi,  5),  but  adding 
to  them  that  title  of  trustful  love  which,  through  Him,  is 
permitted  to  the  use  of  all  mankind,  "Father,"  He  said, 
"  INTO  Thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit."  Then  with 
one  more  great  effort  He  uttered  the  last  cry — the  one  vic- 
torious word  TETEXE6Tai,  "  1t  IS  FINISHED."  It  may  be 
that  that  great  cry  ruptured  some  of  the  vessels  of  His 
heart;  for  no  sooner  had  it  been  uttered  than  He  bowed 
His  head  upon  His  breast,  and  yielded  His  life,  "  a 
ransom  for  many"  —  a  willing  sacrifice  to  His  Heavenly 
Father.  ''Finished  was  His  holy  life;  with  His  life 
His  struggle,  with  His  struggle  His  work,  with  His 
work  the  redemption,  with  the  redemption  the  foun- 
dation of  the  new  world."  At  that  moment  the 
vail  of  the  Temple  was  rent  in  twain  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom.  An  earthquake  shook  the  earth  and  split  the 
rocks,  and  as  it  rolled  away  from  their  places  the  great 
stones  which  closed  and  covered  the  cavern  sepulchers  of 
the  Jews,  so  it  seemed  to  the  imaginations  of  many  to  have 
disimprisoned  the  spirits  of  the  dead,  and  to  have  filled  the 
air  with  ghostly  visitants,  who  after  Christ  had  risen 
appeared  to  linger  in  the  Holy  City.  These  circumstances 
of  amazement,  joined  to  all  they  had  observed  in  the  bear- 
ing of  the  Crucified,  cowed  even  the  cruel  and  gay  indiffer- 
ence of  the  Roman  soldiers.  On  the  centurion,  who  was 
in  command  of  them,  the  whole  scene  had  exercised  a  yet 
deeper  influence.  As  he  stood  opposite  to  the  cross  and 
saw  the  Saviour  die,  he  glorified  God,  and  exclaimed, 
"  This  Man  was  in  truth  righteous"— nay,  more,  "  This 


THE  CRUCIFIXION.  509 

Man  was  a  Sou  of  God."  Even  the  mnltitiule,  utterly 
sobered  from  their  furious  excitement  and  frantic  rage, 
began  to  be  weighed  down  with  a  guilty  consciousness  that 
the  scene  which  they  had  witnessed  had  in  it  something 
more  awful  than  they  could  have  conceived,  and  as  they 
returned  to  Jerusalem  they  wailed,  and  beat  upon  their 
breasts.  Well  might  they  do  sol  This  was  the  last  drop 
in  a  full  cup  of  wickedness:  this  was  the  beginning  of  the 
end  of  their  city,  and  name,  and  race. 

And  in  truth  that  scene  was  more  awful  tlian  they,  or 
even  we  can  know.  The  secular  historian,  be  he  ever  so 
skeptical,  cannot  fail  to  see  in  it  the  central  point  of  the 
world's  history.  Whether  he  be  a  believer  in  Christ  or 
not,  he  cannot  refuse  to  admit  that  this  new  religion  grew 
from  the  smallest  of  all  seeds  to  be  a  mighty  tree,  so 
that  the  birds  of  the  air  took  refuge  in  its  branches;  that 
it  was  the  little  stone  cut  without  liands  which  dashed  into 
pieces  the  colossal  image  of  heathen  greatness,  and  grew 
till  it  became  a  great  mountain  and  filled  the  earth.  Alike 
to  the  infidel  and  to  the  believer  the  crucifixion  is  the 
boundary  instant  between  ancient  and  modern  days. 
Morally  and  physically,  no  less  than  spii-itually,  the  Faith 
of  Christ  was  tiie  Palingenesia  of  the  world.  It  came  like 
the  dawn  of  a  new  spring  to  nations  "  effete  with  the  drunk- 
enness of  crime."  The  struggle  was  long  and  hard,  but 
from  the  hour  when  Christ  died  began  the  death-knell  of 
every  Satanic  tyranny  aiid  every  tolerated  abomination. 
From  that  hour  Holiness  became  the  universal  ideal  of  all 
who  name  the  name  of  Christ  as  their  Lord,  and  the  at- 
tainment of  that  ideal  the  common  heritage  of  souls  in 
which  His  spirit  dwells. 

The  effects,  then,  of  the  work  of  Christ  are  even  to  the 
unbeliever  indisputable  and  historical.  It  expelled  cruelty; 
it  curbed  passion;  it  branded  suicide;  it  punished  and  re- 
pressed an  execrable  infanticide;  it  drove  the  shameless 
impui'ities  of  heathendom  into  a  congenial  darkness. 
There  was  hardly  a  class  whose  wrongs  it  did  not  remedy. 
It  rescued  the  gladiator;  it  freed  the  slave;  it  protected 
the  captive;  it  nursed  the  sick;  it  sheltered  the  orphan;  it 
elevated  the  woman;  it  shrouded  as  with  a  halo  of  sacred 
innocence  the  tender  years  of  the  child.  In  every  region 
of  life   its  ameliorating  influence  was   felt.     It  changed 


510  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

pity  from  a  vice  into  a  virtue.  It  elevated  poverty  from 
a  curse  into  a  beatitude.  It  ennobled  labor  from  a  vul.o;ai'- 
ity  into  a  dignity  aiul  a  duty.  It  sanctified  tnarriage  from 
little  more  tban  a  burdensome  convention  into  little  less 
than  a  blessed  sacj-ament.  It  revealed  for  tlie  first  time 
the  angelic  beauty  of  a  Purity  of  whicb  men  had  despaired, 
and  of  a  Meekness  at  whicli  they  had  utterly  scoffed.  It 
created  the  very  conception  of  charity,  and  broadened  the 
limits  of  its  obligation  from  tlie  narrow  circle  of  a  neigh- 
borhood to  the  widest  horizons  of  the  race.  And  while  it 
thus  evolved  the  idea  of  Humanity  as  a  common  brother- 
hood, even  where  its  tidings  were  not  believed — all  over 
the  world,  wherever  its  tidings  were  believed,  it  cleansed 
the  life  and  elevated  the  soul  of  each  individual  man.  And 
in  all  lands  where  it  has  molded  the  characters  of  its  true 
believers,  it  has  created  hearts  so  pure,  and  lives  so  peace- 
ful, and  homes  so  sweet,  that  it  might  seem  as  though 
those  angels  who  had  heralded  its  advent  had  also  whis- 
pered to  every  depressed  and  despairing  sufferer  among  the 
sons  of  men,  "Though  ye  have  lien  among  the  pots,  yet 
shall  ye  be  as  the  wings  of  a  dove,  tliat  is  covered  with 
silver  wings,  and  her  feathers  like  gold." 

Others,  if  they  can  and  will,  may  see  in  such  a  work  as 
this  no  Divine  Providence;  they  may  think  it  philosoph- 
ical enlightenment  to  hold  that  Christianity  and  Christen- 
dom are  adequately  accounted  for  by  the  idle  dreams  of  a 
noble  self-deceiver,  and  the  passionate  liallucinations  of  a 
recovered  demoniac.  We  persecute  them  not,  we  denounce 
them  not,  we  judge  them  not;  but  we  say  that,  unless  all 
life  be  hollow,  there  could  have  been  no  such  miserable  ori- 
gin to  the  sole  religion  of  the  world,  wliich  holds  the  perfect 
balance  between  philosophy  and  popularity,  between  relig- 
ion and  morals,  between  meek  submissiveness  and  the 
pride  of  freedom,  between  the  ideal  and  the  real,  between 
the  inward  and  the  outward,  between  modest  stillness  and 
heroic  energy,  nay,  between  the  tenderest  conservatism  and 
the  boldest  plans  of  world-wide  reformation.  The  witness 
of  History  to  Ciirist  is  a  witness  which  has  been  given  with 
irresistible  cogency;  and  it  has  been  so  given  to  none  but 
Ilim. 

But  while  even  the  unbeliever  must  see  Avhat  the 
life    and    death    of    Jesus    have   effected    in  the    world, 


TUB  CRUCIFIXION.  511 

to  the  believer  that  life  and  death  are  something 
deeper  still;  to  him  they  are  nothing  less  than  a 
resurrection  from  the  dead.  He  sees  in  the  cross  of  Christ 
something  which  far  transcends  its  historical  significance. 
He  sees  in  it  the  fulfillment  of  all  prophecy  as  well  as  tlie 
consummation  of  all  history;  he  sees  in  it  the  explanation 
of  the  mystery  of  birth,  and  the  conquest  over  the  mystery 
of  the  grave.  In  that  life  he  finds  a  perfect  example;  in 
that  death  an  infinite  redemption.  As  he  contemplates 
the  Incarnation  and  the  Crucifixion,  he  no  longer  feels  that 
God  is  far  away,  and  that  this  earth  is  but  a  disregarded 
speck  in  the  infinite  azure,  and  he  himself  but  an  insignifi- 
cant atom  chance-thrown  amid  the  thousand  million  living 
souls  of  an  innumerable  race,  but  he  exclaims  in  faith  and 
hope  and  love,  "  Behold,  the  Tabernacle  of  God  is  with 
men;  yea,  He  will  be  their  God,  and  they  shall  be  His 
people."  ''Ye  are  the  Temple  of  the  living  God;  as  God 
hath  said,  I  will  dwell  in  them,  and  walk  in  them  "  (Ezek. 
xxxvii.  27;  2  Cor.  vi.  16). 

The  sun  was  westering  as  the  darkness  rolled  away  from 
the  completed  sacrifice.  They  who  had  not  thought  it  a 
pollution  to  inaugurate  their  feast  by  the  murder  of  their 
Messiah,  were  seriously  alarmed  lest  the  sanctity  of  the 
following  day  —  which  began  at  sunset  —  should  be 
compromised  by  the  hanging  of  the  corpses  on 
the  cross.  And,  horrible  to  relate,  the  crucified  often 
lived  for  many  hours,  nay,  even  for  two  days  —  in  their 
torture.  The  Jews  therefore  begged  Pilate  that  their  legs 
might  be  broken,  and  their  bodies  taken  down.  This 
crurifragium,  as  it  was  called,  consisted  in  striking  the 
legs  of  the  sufferers  with  a  heavy  mallet,  a  violence  which 
seemed  always  to  have  hastened,  if  it  did  not  instantly 
cause  their  death.  Nor  would  the  Jews  be  the  only  per- 
sons who  would  be  anxious  to  hasten  the  end  by  giving  the 
deadly  blow.  Until  life  was  extinct  the  soldiers  appointed 
to  guard  tlie  execution  dared  not  leave  the  ground.  The 
wish,  therefoi-e,  was  readily  granted.  The  soldiers  broke 
the  legs  of  the  two  malefactors  first,  and  then,  coming  to 
Jesus,  found  that  the  great  cry  had  been  indeed  His  last, 
and  that  He  was  dead  already.  1'hey  did  not,  therefore, 
break  His  legs,  and.  thus  unwittingly  preserved  the 
symbolism   of  that  Pasclial  lamb,  of  which  He  was   the 


512  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

antitype,  and  of  which  it  had  been  commanded  that  "a 
bone  of  it  shall  not  be  broken"  (Exod.  xii.  46).  And 
yet,  as  lie  might  be  only  in  a  syncope  —  as  instances  had 
been  known  in  which  men  apparently  dead  had  been  taken 
down  from  the  cross  and  resuscitated  —  and  as  the  lives  of 
the  soldiers  wonld  have  had  to  answer  for  any  irregularity, 
one  of  them,  in  order  to  make  death  certain,  drove  the 
broad  head  of  his  hasta  into  His  side.  The  wound,  as  it 
was  meant  to  do,  pierced  the  region  of  the  heart,  and 
"forthwith,"  says  St.  John,  with  an  empliatic  appeal  to 
the  trnthfulness"^  of  his  eye-witness  (an  appeal  which 
would  be  singularly  and  impossibly  blasphemous  if  the 
narrative  were  the  forgery  which  so  much  elaborate 
modern  criticism  has  wholly  failed  to  prove  that  it  is), 
"forthwith  came  there  out  blood  and  water."  Whether 
the  water  was  due  to  some  abnormal  pathological  con- 
ditions caused  by  the  dreadful  complication  of  the 
Saviour's  sufferings  —  or  whether  it  rather  means  that  the 
pericardium  had  been  rent  by  the  spear-point,  and  that 
those  who  took  down  the  body  observed  some  drops  of  its 
serum  mingled  with  the  blood  —  in  either  case  that  lance- 
thrust  was  sufficient  to  hush  all  the  heretical  assertions 
that  Jesus  had  only  seemed  to  die  ;  and  as  it  assured  the 
soldiers,  so  should  it  assure  all  who  have  doubted,  that  He, 
■who  on  the  third  day  rose  again,  had  in  truth  been 
crucified,  dead,  and  buried,  and  that  His  soul  liad  passed 
into  the  unseen  world. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

THE     RESURRECTION. 

At  the  moment  when  Christ  died,  nothing  could  have 
seemed  more  abjectly  weak,  more  pitifully  hopeless,  more 
absolutely  doomed  to  scorn,  and  extinction,  and  despair, 
than  the  Church  which  He  had  founded.  It  numbered 
but  a  handful  of  weak  followers,  of  which  the  boldest  had 
denied  his  Lord  with  blasphemy,  and  the  most  devoted 
had  forsaken  Him  and  fled.  They  were  poor,  they  were 
ignorant,  they  were  hopeless.  They  could  not  claim  a 
single  synagogue  or  a  single  sword.     If  they  spoke  their 


THE  R  E8  URR  ECTION.  513 

own  language,  it  bewrayed  them  by  its  mongrel  dialect ;  if 
they  spoke  the  current  Greek,  it  was  despised  as  a  miser- 
able jt>«^o/s.  So  feeble  were  they  and  insignificant,  that  it 
■would  have  looked  like  foolish  partiality  to  prophesy  for 
them  the  limited  existence  of  a  Galilaean  sect.  How  was 
it  that  these  dull  and  ignorant  men,  with  their  cross  of 
wood,  triumphed  over  the  deadly  fascinations  of  sensual 
mythologies,  conquered  kings  and  their  armies,  and  over- 
came the  world  ? 

What  was  it  that  thus  caused  strength  to  be  made  per- 
fect out  of  abject  weakness?  There  is  one,  and  one  only 
possible  answer  —  the  resurrection  from  the  dead.  All  this 
vast  revolution  was  due  to  the  power  of  Olirist's  resur- 
rection. "\i  we  measure  what  seemed  to  be  the  hopeless 
ignominy  of  the  catastrophe  by  which  His  work  was 
ended,  and  the  Divine  prerogatives  which  are  claimed  for 
Him,  not  in  spiie  of,  but  in  consequence  of  that  suffering 
and  shame,  we  shall  feel  the  utter  hopelessness  of  recon- 
ciling the  fact,  and  that  triumphant  deduction  from  it, 
without  some  intervening  fact  as  certain  as  Christ's  passion, 
and  glorious  enough  to  transfigure  its  sorrow," 

The  sun  was  now  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  and 
the  Sabbath  day  was  near.  And  "  that  Sabbath  day  was 
a  high  day,"  a  Sabbath  of  peculiar  splendor  and  solemnity, 
because  it  was  at  once  a  Sabbath  and  a  Passover  (John 
xix.  31).  The  Jews  had  taken  every  precaution  to  pre- 
vent the  ceremonial  pollution  of  a  clay  so  sacred,  and  were 
anxious  that  immediately  after  the  death  of  the  victims 
had  been  secured,  their  bodies  sliould  be  taken  from  the 
cross.  About  the  sepulture  they  did  not  trouble  them- 
selves, leaving  it  to  the  chance  good  offices  of  friends  and 
relatives  to  huddle  the  malefactors  into  tlieir  nameless 
graves.  The  dead  body  of  Jesus  was  left  hanging  till  the 
last,  because  a  person  who  could  not  easily  be  slighted  had 
gone  to  obtain  leave  from  Pilate  to  dispose  of  it  as  he 
wished. 

This  was  Joseph  of  Arimathaea,  a  rich  man,  of  high 
character  and  blameless  life,  and  a  distinguished  member 
of  the  Sanhedrin.  Although  timidity  of  disposition,  or 
weakness  of  faith,  had  hitherto  prevented  him  from  openly 
declaring  his  belief  in  Jesus,  yet  lie  liad  abstained  fronr 
sharing  in  the  vote   of  the  Sanhedrin,  or   countenancing 


514  ^^^  ^^TFE  OF  CIIUTRT. 

their  crime.  And  mow  sorrow  and  indignation  inspired 
him  with  courage.  Since  it  was  too  late  to  declare 
his  sympathy  for  Jesus  as  a  living  Prophet,  he  would  at 
least  give  a  sign  of  his  devotion  to  Him  as  the  martyred 
victim  of  a  wicked  conspiracy.  Flinging  secrecy  and  cau- 
tion to  the  winds,  he  no  sooner  saw  that  the  cross  on  Gol- 
gotha now  bore  a  lifeless  burden,  than  he  went  to  Pilate 
on  the  very  evening  of  the  f^rucifixion,  and  begged  thai 
the  dead  body  might  be  given  him.  Although  the  Romans 
left  their  crucified  slaves  to  be  devoured  by  dogs  and 
ravens,  Pilate  had  no  difiiculty  in  sanctioning  the  more 
humane  and  reverent  custom  of  the  Jews,  whicli  required, 
even  in  extreme  cases,  the  burial  of  the  dead  (Deut.  xxi. 
23 ;  Josh.  viii.  29).  He  was,  however,  amazed  at  the 
speediness  with  whicli  death  hud  supervened,  and  sending 
for  the  centurion,  asked  whether  it  had  taken  place  suf- 
ficiently long  to  distinguish  it  from  a  faint  or  swoon.  On 
ascertaining  that  sucli  was  tlie  fact,  he  at  once  assigned 
the  body,  doubtless  with  some  real  satisfaction,  to  the  care 
of  this  "  honorable  councillor."  Without  wasting  a  mo- 
ment, Joseph  purcliased  a  long  piece  of  fine  linen,  and 
took  the  body  from  its  cross.  Meanwhile  the  force  of  his 
example  had  helped  to  waken  a  kindred  feeling  in  the  soul 
of  the  candid  but  fearful  Nicodemus.  If,  as  seems  ex- 
tremely probable,  he  be  identical  with  the  Nakdimon  Ben 
Gorion  of  the  Talmud,  he  was  a  man  of  enormous  wealth; 
and  however  much  he  had  held  back  during  the  life  of 
Jesus,  now,  on  the  evening  of  His  death,  his  heart  was 
filled  with  a  gush  of  compassion  and  remorse,  and  he  hur- 
ried to  His  cross  and  burial  with  an  offering  of  truly  royal 
munificence.  The  faith  wliich  had  once  required  the  cur- 
tain of  darkness,  can  now  venture  at  least  into  the  light  of 
sunset,  and  brightened  finally  into  noonday  confidence. 
Thanks  to  this  glow  of  kindling  sorrow  and  compassion  in 
the  heai-ts  of  these  two  noble  and  wealthy  disciples.  He 
who  died  as  a  malefactor,  was  buried  as  a  king.  "  He 
made  His  grave  with  the  wicked,  and  with  the  rich  in  His 
death."  The  fine  linen  {sindon)  which  Joseph  had  pur- 
chased was  richly  spread  with  the  hundred  litrafi  of  myrrh 
and  perfumed  aloe-wood  which  Nicodemus  had  brought, 
and  the  lacerated  body — whose  divinely-human  spirit  was 
now  in  the  calm  of  its  sabbatli  rest  in  the  Paradise  of  God 
-!-  was  thus  carried  to  its  loved  and  peaceful  grave. 


THK  re.surrection:  515 

Close  by  the  place  of  crucifixion  —  if  not  an  actual  part 
of  it — was  a  garden  belonging  to  Joseph  of  Arimath^ea,  and 
in  its  inclosure  he  had  caused  a  new  tomb  to  be  hewn  for 
himself  out  of  the  solid  rock,  that  he  might  be  buried  in 
the  near  precincts  of  the  Holy  City.  The  tomb  had  never 
been  used,  but,  in  spite  of  the  awful  sacredness  which  the 
Jews  attached  to  their  I'ock-hewn  sepulchers,  and  the  sen- 
sitive scrupulosity  with  which  they  slirank  from  all  contact 
with  a  corpse,  Joseph  never  hesitated  to  give  up  for  the 
body  of  Jesus  the  last  home  which  lie  had  designed  for  his 
own  use.  But  the  preparations  had  to  be  hurried,  because 
when  the  sun  iiad  set  the  Sabbath  would  have  begun.  All 
that  they  could  do,  therefore,  was  to  wash  the  corpse,  to 
lay  it  amid  the  spices,  to  wrap  tiie  head  in  a  white  napkin, 
to  roll  the  fine  linen  round  and  round  the  wounded  limbs, 
and  to  lay  the  body  reverently  in  the  rocky  niche.  Then, 
with  the  united  toil  of  several  men,  they  rolled  a  golal,  or 
great  stone,  to  the  horizontal  aperture  ;  and  scarcely  had 
they  accomplished  this  when,  as  the  sun  sank  behind  the 
hills  of  Jerusalem,  the  new  Sabbath  dawned. 

Mary  of  Magdala,  and  Mary  the  mother  of  James  and 
Joses,  had  seated  themselves  in  the  garden  to  mark  well 
the  place  of  sepulture,  and  other  Galilsean  women  had  also 
noticed  the  spot,  and  had  hurried  home  to  prepare  fresh 
spices  and  ointments  before  the  Sabbath  began,  that  they 
might  hasten  back  early  on  the  morning  of  Sunday,  and 
complete  that  embalming  of  the  body  which  Joseph  and 
Nicodemus  had  only  hastily  begun.  They  spent  in  quiet 
that  miserable  Sabbath,  which,  for  the  broken  hearts  of  all 
who  loved  Jesus,  was  a  Sabbath  of  anguish  and  despair. 

But  the  enemies  of  Christ  were  not  so  inactive.  The 
awful  misgiving  of  guilty  consciences  was  not  removed 
even  by  His  death  upon  the  cross.  They  recalled,  with 
dreadful  reminiscence,  the  rumored  prophecies  of  His  res- 
xirrection — the  sign  of  the  prophet  Jonah,  which  He  had 
said  would  alone  be  given  them  (Matt.  xii.  39) — the  great 
utterance  about  the  destroyed  Temple,  which  He  would  in 
three  days  raise  up;  and  these  intimations,  which  were  but 
dim  to  a  crushed  and  wavering  faith,  were  read,  like  fiery 
letters  upon  the  wall,  by  the  illuminating  glare  of  an 
uneasy  guilt.  Pi-etendiug,  therefore,  to  be  afraid  lest  His 
body  should  be  stolen  by  His  disciples  for  purposes  of  im- 


516  7i//i'  f^iJ'^K  OF  cnimT. 

posture,  they  begged  that,  until  the  third  day,  the  tomb 
might  be  securely  guarded.  Pilate  gave  them  a  brief  and 
luuighty  permission  to  do  anything  they  liked  ;  for  — 
apparently  in  the  evening,  when  the  great  Paschal  Sab- 
bath was  over  —  they  sent  their  guard  to  seal  the  golal,  and 
to  watch  the  sepulcher. 

Night  passed,  and  before  the  faint  streak  of  dawn  began 
to  silver  the  darkness  of  that  first  great  Easter-day,  the 
passionate  love  of  those  women,  who  had  lingered  latest  by 
the   cross,    made   them    also   the   earliest    at    the   tomb. 
Carrying  with  them   their  precious   spices,  but   knowing 
nothing   of   the    watch    or   seal,   they  anxiously  inquired 
among  themselves,  as  they  groped  their  way  with  sad  and 
timid    steps   through    the    glimmering   darkness,    "Who 
should  roll  away  for  them  the  great  stone  which  closed  the 
sepulcher?"     The  two  Marys  were  foremost  of  this  little 
devoted  band,  and  after  them  came  Salome  and  Joanna. 
They  found   their  difficulty  solved   for  them.     It  became 
known    then,    or   afterward,    that   some   dazzling  angelic 
vision  in  white  robes  had  terrified  the  keepers  of  the  tomb, 
and  had  rolled  the  stone  from  the  tomb  amid  the  shocks 
of  earthquake.     And  as  they  came  to  the  tomb,  there  they 
too  saw  angels  in  white  apparel,  who  bade  them   hasten 
back  to  the  Apostles,  and  tell  them— and  especially  Peter 
— that  Christ,  according  to  His  own  word,  had  risen  from 
the  dead,  and  would  go  before  them,  like  a  shepherd,  into 
their  own  beloved  and  native  Galilee.     They  hurried  back 
in  a  tumult  of  rapture  and   alarm,  telling  no  one  except 
the   disciples  ;  and    even    to    the    disciples    their    words 
sounded  like  an  idle  tale.     But   Mary  of  Magdala,  who 
seems  to  have  received  a  separate  and  special  intimation, 
hastened  at  once  to  Peter  and  John.     No  sooner  had  they 
received    this   startling   news   than  they  rose  to  see  with 
their  own  eyes  what  had  happened.     John  outstripped  in 
speed   his   elder   companion,  and    arriving   first,  stooped 
down,  and  gazed  in  silent  wonder  into  that  open  grave. 
The  grave  was  empty,  and  the  linen  cerements  were  lying 
neatly  folded  each  in  its  proper  place.     Then  Peter  came 
up,  and  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  heedless  of  ceremoniiil 
pollution,  and  of  every  consideration  but  his  love  and  his 
astonishment,  plunged*^into  the  sepulcher.     John  followed 
him,  and  saw,  and  believed  ;  and  the  two  Apostles  took 


THE  RESURRECTION.  517 

back  the  undoubted  certainty  to  their  wondering  brethren. 
In  spite  of  fear,  and  anxiety,  and  that  dull  intelligence 
which,  by  their  own  confession,  was  so  slow  to  realize  the 
truths  they  had  been  taught,  there  dawned  upon  them, 
even  then,  the  trembling  hope,  which  was  so  rapidly  to 
become  the  absolute  conviction,  that  Christ  had  risen 
indeed.  That  on  that  morning  the  grave  of  Christ  was 
untenanted — that  His  body  had  not  been  removed  by  His 
enemies — that  its  absence  caused  to  His  disciples  the 
profoundest  amazement,  not  unmingled,  in  the  breasts 
of  some  of  them,  with  sorrow  and.  alarm — that  they  subse- 
quently became  convinced,  by  repeated  proofs,  that  He 
had  indeed  risen  from  the  dead — that  for  the  truth  of  this 
belief  they  were  ready  at  all  times  themselves  to  die — that 
the  belief  effected  a  profound  and  total  change  in  their 
character,  making  the  timid  courageous,  and  the  weak 
irresistible — that  they  were  incapable  of  a  conscious  false- 
hood, and  that,  even  if  it  had  not  been  so,  a  conscious 
falsehood  could  never  have  had  power  to  convince  the 
disbelief  and  regenerate  the  morality  of  the  world — that 
on  this  belief  of  the  resurrection  were  built  the  still 
universal  observance  of  tlie  first  day  of  the  week  and  the 
entire  foundations  of  the  Christian  Church — these,  at  any 
rate,  are  facts  which  even  skepticism  itself,  if  it  desires  to 
be  candid,  can  hardly  fail,  however  reluctantly  and  slowly, 
to  admit. 

1.  But  as  yet  no  eye  had  seen  Him  ;  and  to  Mary  of 
Magdala — to  her  who  loved  most  because  she  had  been 
forgiven  most,  and  out  of  whose  soul,  now  ardent  as  flame 
and  clear  as  crystal.  He  had  cast  seven  devils — was  this 
glorious  honor  first  vouciisafed.  Even  the  vision  of  angels 
had  not  soothed  the  joassion  of  agitation  and  alarm  which 
she  experienced  when,  returning  once  more  to  the  tomb, 
she  found  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  for  her  to  pay  the 
last  offices  of  devotion  and  teiulerness  to  the  crucified 
body  of  her  Lord.  From  her  impassioned  soul  not  even 
the  white-robed  visions  and  angel  voices  could  expel  the 
anguish  which  she  experienced  in  the  one  haunting  thought, 
"  They  have  taken  away  my  Lord  out  of  the  sepulcher, 
and  I  know  not  where  they  have  laid  Him."  With  her 
whole  heart  absorbed  in  this  thought  she  turned  away — 
and  lo  !  Jesus  Himself  standing  before  her.     It  was  Jesus, 


518  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

but  not  as  she  had  known  Him.  There  was  something 
spiritual,  sonietliing  not  of  earth,  in  that  risen  and 
glorified  body.  Some  accident  of  dress,  or  appearance, 
made  her  fancy  that  it  was  the  keeper  of  the  garden,  and 
in  the  eager  hope  tliat  he  can  explain  to  her  the  secret  of 
that  empty  and  angel-haunted  grave,  she  exclaims  to  Him 
in  an  agony  of  appeal — turning  her  head  aside  as  she 
addressed  Him,  perhaps  that  she  might  hide  her  streaming 
tears — "Oh,  sir,  if  you  took  Him  away,  tell  me  where  you 
put  Him,  and  I  will  take  Him." 

Jesus  saith  to  her,  "  Mary  !  " 

That  one  word,  in  those  awful  yet  tender  tones  of 
voice,  at  once  penetrated  to  her  heart.  Turning  toward 
Him,  trying  apparently  to  clasp  His  feet  or  the  hem  of 
His  garment,  she  cried  to  Him  in  lier  native  Aramaic, 
"  Rabboni!"  "  Oh,  my  Masterl"and  then  remained  speech- 
less with  her  transport.  Jesus  Himself  gently  checked  the 
passion  of  her  enthusiasm.  '*'  Cling  not  to  Me,"  He  ex- 
claimed, ''for  not  yet  have  I  ascended  to  the  Father;  but 
go  to  My  brethren,  and  say  to  them,  I  am  ascending  to  My 
Father  and  your  Father,  and  My  God  and  your  God." 
Awe-struck,  she  hastened  to  obey.  She  repeated  to  them 
that  solemn  nressage  —  and  through  all  future  ages  has 
thrilled  that  first  utterance,  which  made  on  the  minds  of 
those  who  heard  it  so  indelible  an  impression — "  I  have 
SEEN  THE  Lord." 

2.  Nor  was  her  testimony  unsupported.  Jesus  met  the 
other  women  also,  and  said  to  them,  "All  hail  !"  Terror 
mingled  with  their  emotion,  as  they  clasped  His  feet. 
"  Fear  not,"  He  said  to  them;  "go,  bid  My  brethren  that 
they  depart  into  Galilee,  and  there  shall  they  see  Me." 

It  was  useless  for  the  guards  to  stay  beside  an  empty 
grave.  With  fear  for  the  consequences,  and  horror  at  all 
that  they  had  seen,  they  fled  to  the  members  of  the  San- 
hedrin  who  had  given  them  their  secret  commission.  To 
these  hardened  hearts  belief  and  investigation  were  alike 
out  of  the  question.  Their  only  refuge  seemed  to  be  in 
lies.  They  instantly  tried  to  hush  up  the  whole  matter. 
They  suggested  to  the  soldiers  that  they  must  have  slept, 
and  that  while  they  did  so  the  disciples  had  stolen  the  body 
of  Jesns.  But  such  a  tale  was  too  infamous  for  credence, 
and    too   ridiculous  for  publicity.     If  it  became  known, 


THE  RESURRECTION.  519 

nothing  could  have  saved  these  soldiers,  supposing  them  to 
have  been  Romans,  from  disgrace  and  execution.  The 
Sadducees  tlierefore  bi'ibed  the  men  to  consult  their  com- 
mon interests  by  burying  the  whole  matter  in  secrecy  and 
silence.  It  was  only  gradually  and  later,  and  to  the 
initiated,  that  the  base  calumny  was  spread.  Within  six 
weeks  of  the  resurrection,  that  great  event  was  the  un- 
shaken faitli  of  every  Christian;  within  a  few  years  of  the 
event  the  palpable  historic  proofs  of  it  and  the  numerous 
testimonies  of  its  reality — strengthened  by  a  memorable 
vision  vouchsafed  to  himself — had  won  assent  from  the 
acute  and  noble  intellect  of  a  young  Pharisaic  zealot  and 
persecutor  whose  name  was  Saul  (1  Cor.  xv.  4-8).  But  it 
was  only  in  posthumous  and  subterranean  whispers  that 
the  dark  falsehood  was  disseminated  which  was  intended  to 
counteract  this  overwhelming  evidence.  St.  Matthew  says 
that  when  he  wrote  his  Gospel  it  was  still  commonly  bruited 
among  the  Jews.  It  continued  to  be  received  among  them 
for  centuries,  and  is  one  of  the  blaspheming  follies  which 
was  repeated  and  amplified  twelve  centuries  afterward  in  the 
Toldoth  Jeshu. 

3.  The  third  appearance  of  Jesus  was  to  Peter.  The  de- 
tails of  it  are  wholly  unknown  to  us  (Luke  xxiv.  34;  1  Cor. 
XV.  5).  They  may  have  been  of  a  nature  too  personal  to 
have  been  revealed.  The  fact  rests  on  the  express  testi- 
mony of  St.  Luke  and  of  St.  Paul. 

4.  On  the;  same  day  the  Lord's  fourth  appearance  was 
accompanied  with  circumstances  of  the  deepest  interest. 
Two  of  the  disciples  were  on  their  way  to  a  village  named 
Emmaus,  of  uncertain  site,  but  about  eight  miles  from 
Jerusalem,  and  were  discoursing  with  sad  and  anxious 
hearts  on  the  awful  incidents  of  the  last  two  days,  when  a 
Stranger  joined  them,  and  asked  them  the  cause  of  their 
clouded  looks  and  anxious  words.  They  stopped,  and 
looked  at  this  unknown  traveler  with  a  dubious  and  un- 
friendly glance;  and  when  one  of  the  two,  whose  name  was 
Cleopas,  spoke  in  reply,  there  is  a  touch  of  surprise  and 
suspicion  in  the  answer  which  he  ventured  to  give.  "  Dost 
thou  live  alone  as  a  stranger  in  Jei'usalem,  and  dost  thou 
not  know  what  things  happened  there  in  these  last  days?" 
''What  things?"  He  asked  them.  Then  they  told  Him 
how  all  their  yearning  hopes  that  Jesus  had  been  the  great 


520  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Prophet  who  should  redeem  His  people  had  been  dashed  to 
the  eiirth,  and  how  all  His  mighty  deeds  before  God  and 
the  people  had  ended  two  days  back  on  the  shameful  cross. 
They  described  the  feeling  of  amazement  with  which,  on 
this  the  third  day,  they  had  heard  the  women's  rumors  of 
angel  visions,  and  the  certain  testimony  of  some  of  their 
brethren,  that  the  tomb  was  empty  now.  "But,"  added 
the  speaker  with  a  sigh  of  incredulity  and  sorrow — "but 
Him  they  saw  not." 

Then  reproaching  them  with  the  dullness  of  their  intelli- 
gence and  their  affections,  the  Stranger  showed  them  how 
through  all  the  Old  Testament  from  Moses  onward  there 
was  long  prophecy  of  the  sufferings  no  less  than  of  the 
glory  of  Christ.  In  such  high  converse  they  drew  near  to 
Emmaus,  and  the  Stranger  seemed  to  be  going  onward, 
but  they  pressed  Him  to  stay,  and  as  they  sat  down  to  their 
simple  meal,  and  He  blessed  and  brake  the  bread,  suddenly 
their  eyes  were  opened,  and  in  spite  of  the  altered  form, 
they  recognized  that  He  who  was  with  them  was  the  Lord, 
But  even  as  they  recognized  Him,  He  was  with  them  no 
longer.  "Did  not  our  heart  burn  within  us,"  they  ex- 
claimed to  each  other,  "  while  He  was  speaking  with  us  in 
the  way,  while  he  was  opening  to  us  the  Scriptures  ?" 
Rising  instantly,  they  returned  to  Jerusalem  with  the 
strange  and  joyous  tidings.  They  found  no  dubious  listen- 
ers now.  'I'hey,  too,  were  received  with  the  rapturous 
affirmation,  "  The  Lord  is  risen  iadeed,  and  hath  appeared 
unto  Simon!" 

5.  Once  more,  for  the  iifth  time  on  that  eternally 
memorable  Easter  day,  Jesus  manifested  Himself  to  His 
disciples.  Ten  of  them  were  sitting  together,  with  doors 
closed  for  fear  of  the  Jews.  As  they  exchanged  and  dis- 
cussed their  happy  intelligence,  Jesus  Himself  stood  in 
tlie  midst  of  them,  with  the  words,  "Peace  be  with  you." 
The  unwonted  aspect  of  that  glorified  body  —  the  awful 
significance  of  the  fact  that  He  had  risen  from  the  dead 
—  scared  and  frightened  them.  The  presence  of  their 
Lord  was  indeed  corporeal,  but  it  was  changed.  They 
thought  that  it  was  a  spirit  which  was  standing  before 
them.  "Why  are  ye  troubled?"  He  asked,  "and  why 
do  anxious  doubts  rise  in  your  hearts?  See  my  hands  and 
my  feet,  that  it  is  I  ;  handle  me,  and  see  ;  for  a  spirit 


THE  RESURRECTION.  521 

hath  uot  flesh  and  bones  as  ye  see  me  have."  Even  while 
He  spoke  He  showed  them  His  hands  and  His  side.  And 
then,  while  joy,  amazement,  incredulity,  were  all  strug- 
gling in  their  hearts,  He  asked  them  if  they  had  there 
anytiiing  to  eat;  and  yet  further  to  assure  them,  ate  a 
piece  of  broiled  fish  in  their  presence.  Then  once  more 
He  said,  ''Peace  be  unto  you.  As  my  father  hath  sent 
me,  even  so  send  I  you."  Breathing  on  them,  He  said, 
"  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Ghost.  Whosesoever  sins  ye  remit, 
they  are  remitted  to  them  :  whosesoever  sins  ye  retain, 
they  are  retained." 

6.  One  only  of  the  Apostles  had  been  absent  —  Thomas 
the  Twin.  His  character,  as  we  have  seen  already,  was 
affectionate,  but  melancholy.  To  him  the  news  seemed 
too  good  to  be  true.  In  vain  did  the  other  disciples  assure 
him,  "  We  have  seen  the  Lord."  Happily  for  us,  though 
less  happily  for  him,  he  declared  with  strong  asseveration 
that  nothing  would  convince  him,  short  of  actually  putting 
las  own  finger  into  the  print  of  the  nails,  and  his  hands 
into  His  side.  A  week  passed,  and  the  faithfully  recorded 
doubts  of  the  anxious  Apostle  remained  unsatisfied.  On  the 
eighth,  or,  as  we  should  say,  on  the  seventh  day  after- 
ward—  for  already  the  resurrection  had  made  the  first 
day  of  the  week  sacred  to  the  hearts  of  the  Apostles  —  the 
eleven  were  again  assembled  within  closed  doors.  Once 
more  Jesus  appeared  to  them,  and  after  His  usual  gentle 
and  solemn  blessing,  called  Thomas,  and  bade  him  stretch 
forth  his  finger,  and  put  it  in  the  print  of  the  nails,  and 
to  thrust  his  hand  into  the  spear-wound  of  His  side,  and 
to  be  "  not  faithless,  but  believing."  "  My  Lord  and  my 
God  !"  exclaimed  the  incredulous  Apostle,  with  a  burst  of 
conviction,  "Because  thou  hast  seen  Me,"  said  Jesus, 
"thou  hast  believed  ;  blessed  are  they  who  saw  not  and 
yet  believed." 

7.  The  next  appearance  of  the  risen  Saviour  was  to 
seven  of  the  Apostles  by  the  Sea  of  Galilee — Simon, 
Thomas,  Nathanael,  the  sons  of  Zebedee,  and  two  others 
—  not  improbably  Philip  and  Andrew  —  who  are  not 
named  (John  xxi.  1-24-).  A  pause  had  occurred  in  the 
visits  of  Jesus,  and  before  they  returned  to  Jerusalem  at 
Pentecost  to  receive  the  promised  outpouring  of  the  Spirit, 
Simon  said  that  he  siiould  resume  for  the  day  his  old  trade 


522  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  a  fisherman.     There  was  no  longer  a  common  purse, 

and  as  their  means  of  subsistence  were  gone,  this  seemed 
to  be  the  only  obvious  way  of  obtaining  an  lionest  main- 
tenance. Tlie  others  proposed  to  join  him,  and  they  set 
sail  in  the  evening,  because  night  is  the  best  time  for 
fishing.  All  night  they  toiled  in  vain.  At  early  dawn,  in 
the  misty  twilight,  there  stood  on  the  shore  the  figure  of 
One  whom  they  did  not  recognize.  A  voice  asked  them  if 
they  had  caught  anything.  "N^o,"  was  the  despondent 
answer.  "Fling  your  net  to  the  right  side  of  the  vessel, 
and  ye  shall  find."  They  made  the  cast,  and  instantly 
were  scarcely  able  to  draw  the  net  from  the  multitude  of 
fishes.  The  incident  awoke,  with  overwiielming  force,  the 
memory  of  earlier  days.  '"  It  is  the  Lord,"  whispered 
John  to  Peter ;  and  instantly  the  warm-hearted  enthu- 
siast, tightening  his  fisher's  tunic  round  his  loins,  leaped 
into  the  sea,  to  swim  across  the  hundred  yards  which 
separated  him  from  Jesus,  and  cast  himself,  all  wet  from 
the  waves,  before  His  feet.  More  slowly  the  others  fol- 
lowed, dragging  the  strained  but  unbroken  net,  with  its 
153  fishes.  A  wood  fire  was  burning  on  the  strand,  some 
bread  lay  beside  it,  and  some  fish  were  being  broiled  on 
the  glowing  embers.  It  is  a  sight  which  may  often  be  seen 
to  this  day  by  tiie  shoi'es  of  Galilee.  And  He  who  stood 
beside  it  bade  them  bring  more  fish  of  those  which  they 
had  cauglit.  Instantly  Simon  started  up,  and  helped 
with  his  strong  arm  to  drag  the  net  ashore.  And  He 
whom  tliey  all  knew  to  be  the  Lord,  but  -.vhose  voice  and 
aspect  made  their  hearts  so  still  with  awful  reverence  that 
they  dared  not  question  Him,  bade  them,  "  Come  and 
breakfast,"  and  distributed  to  them  the  bread  and  fish. 

The  happy  meal  ended  in  silence,  and  then  Jesus  said  to 
His  weak  but  fond  Apostle,  '*  Simon  " —  (it  was  no  time 
as  yet  to  restore  to  him  the  name  of  Peter)  —  "Simon, 
son  of  Jonas,  honorest  thou  Me  more  than  these?" 

"  Yea,  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee." 

"  Feed  My  little  lambs." 

Simon  had  felt  in  his  inmost  heart  what  was  meant  by 
that  kind  rebuke — *'  more  than  these."  It  called  back  to 
his  penitent  soul  those  boastful  words,  uttered  so  confi- 
dently among  his  brethren,  "  Altliougli  all  shall  be 
offended,  yet  will  not  I."     Failure  had  taught  him  humil- 


TEE  RESURRECTION,  523 

ity,  and  therefore  he  will  neither  claim  a  pre-eminence  in 
affection,  nor  adopt  the  word  of  the  Saviour's  question 
{dyanai),  which  involved  deep  honor  and  devotion  and 
esteem;  but  will  substitute  for  it  that  weaker  word,  which 
yet  best  expressed  the  warm  human  affection  of  his 
heart.  And  the  next  time  the  question  reminded  him  less 
painfully  of  his  old  self-confidence,  for  Jesus  said  to  him 
only— 

"Simon,  sou  of  Jonas,  honorest  thou  Me?" 

Again  the  Apostle  humbly  answered  in  the  same  words 
as  before — 

''Yea,  Lord,  Tiiou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee." 

"Tend  my  sheep." 

But  Simon  had  thrice  denied,  and  therefore  it  was  fit- 
ting that  he  should  thrice  confess.  Again,  after  a  brief 
pause,  came  the  question — and  this  time  the  weaker  but 
warmer  word  which  the  Apostle  himself  had  chosen — 

"  Simon,  son  of  Jonas,  lovest  thou  Me  ?" 

And  Simon,  deeply  humbled  and  distressed,  exclaimed, 
"  Lord,  Thou  knowest  all  things  ;  Thou  seest  that  I  love 
Thee." 

"Feed  My  beloved  sheep."  Then  very  solemnly  added, 
"  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee.  When  thou  wast  younger 
thou  didst  gird  thyself,  and  walk  where  thou  wouldest ; 
but  when  thou  art  old  thou  shalt  stretch  out  thy  hands, 
and  another  shall  gird  thee,  and  shall  lead  thee  where  thou 
wiliest  not." 

The  Apostle  understood  Him;  he  knew  that  this  implied 
the  years  of  his  future  service,  the  pangs  of  his  future 
martyrdom;  but  now  he  was  no  longer  "Simon,"  but 
"Peter" — the  heart  of  rock  was  in  him  ;  he  was  ready, 
even  to  the  death,  to  obey  the  voice  which  said  to  him, 
"Follow  Me."  While  the  conversation  had  been  taking 
place  he  had  been  walking  by  the  side  of  Jesus,  a  few 
steps  in  front  of  his  comrades.  Looking  back  he  saw 
John,  his  only  favorite  companion,  and  the  disciple  whom 
Jesus  loved,  slowly  following  them.  Pointing  to  him,  he 
asked,  "  Lord,  and  what  shall  he  do  'f  The  answer 
checked  the  spirit  of  idle  curiosity — "  If  I  will  that  he  tarry 
till  I  come,  what  is  that  to  tliee  ?  Follow  thou  Me."  Peter 
dared  ask  no  more,  and  the  answer — which  was  intentionally 
vague — led   to  the  wide  misapprehension  prevalent  in  the 


524  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

early  Church,  that  John  was  not  to  die  until  Jesus  came. 
The'  Apostle  quietly  corrects  tlie  error  by  quoting  the  exact 
words  of  the  risen  Christ.  The  manner  of  his  death  we 
do  not  know,  but  we  know  that  he  outlived  all  his 
brother  disciples,  and  that  he  survived  that  terrible  over- 
throw of  his  nation  which,  since  it  rendered  impossible  a 
strict  obedience  to  the  institutions  of  the  Old  Covenant, 
and  opened  througliout  the  world  an  unimpeded  path  for 
the  establishment  of  the  New  Commandment  and  the 
Kingdom  not  of  earth,  was — in  a  sense  more  true  than 
any  other  event  in  human  history — a  second  coming  of  the 
Lord. 

8.  It  mav  have  been  on  this  occasion  that  Jesus  told 
His  disciples  of  the  mountain  in  Galilee,  where  he  would 
meet  all  who  knew  and  loved  Him  for  the  last  time. 
Whether  it  was  Tabor,  or  the  Mountain  of  Beatitudes,  we 
do  not  know,  but  more  than  five  hundred  of  his  disciples 
collected  at  the  given  time  with  the  eleven,  and  received 
from  Jesus  His  last  commands,  to  teach  and  baptize 
throughout  all  nations  ;  and  the  last  promise,  that  He 
would  be  with  them  always,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
Writing  more  than  twenty  years  after  this  time,  St.  Paul 
gives  us  the  remarkable  testimony,  that  the  greater  num- 
ber of  these  eye-witnesses  of  the  resurrection  were  yet 
alive,  and  that  some  only  were  "fallen  asleep." 

9.  A  ninth  appearance  of  Jesus  is  unrecorded  in  the 
Gospels,  and  is  known  to  us  from  a  single  allusion  in  St. 
Paul  alone.  "  I  delivered  unto  you,"  he  writes  to  the  Cor- 
inthians (1  Cor.  XV.  3-8),  "  that  "which  also  I  received,  how 
that  Christ  died  for  our  sins,  according  to  the  Scriptures  ; 
and  that  He  was  buried,  and  that  He  rose  again  the  third 
day,  according  to  tiie  Scriptures;  and  that  He  was  seen  of 
Cephas,  tlien  of  the  Twelve  ;  after  that.  He  was  seen  of 
above  five  hundred  brethren  at  once  :  .  .  .  after 
that,  He  was  seen  of  James  ;  then  of  all  the  Apostles.  And 
last  of  all  He  appeared  to  me  also,  as  to  the  abortive-born 
(of  the  Apostolic  family)."  Respecting  this  appearance  to 
James  we  know  nothing  further,  unless  there  be  any  basis 
of  true  tradition  in  the  story  preserved  to  us  in  the  Gospel 
of  the  Hebrews.  We  are  there  told  that  James,  the  first 
Bishop  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  Jjord's  brother  had,  after  the 
Last  Supper,  taken  a  solemn  vow  that  he  would   neither 


TitE  REmiinECTIOK.  525 

eat  nor  drink  until  lie  had  seen  Jesus  risen  from  the  dead. 
Early,  therefore,  after  His  resurrection,  Jesus,  after  He 
had  given  the  sindoii  to  the  servant  of  the  priest,  had  a 
table  with  bread  brought  out,  blessed  the  bread,  and  gave 
it  to  James,  with  the  words,  "Eat  thy  bread  now  my 
brother,  since  the  Son  of  Man  has  risen  from  the  dead." 

10.  Eorty  days  had  now  elapsed  since  the  Crucifixion. 
During  those  forty  days  nine  times  had  He  been  visibly 
present  to  human  eyes,  and  had  been  touched  by  human 
hands.  But  His  body  had  not  been  merely  the  human 
body,  nor  liable  to  merely  human  laws,  nor  had  He  lived 
during  those  days  the  life  of  men.  The  time  had  now 
come  when  His  earthly  presence  should  be  taken  away 
from  them  forever,  until  He  returned  in  glory  to  judge 
tbe  world.  He  met  them  in  Jerusalem,  and  as  He  led 
them  with  Him  toward  Bethany,  He  bade  them  wait  in 
the  Holy  City  until  they  had  received  the  promise  of  the 
Spirit.  He  checked  their  eager  inquiry  about  the  times 
and  the  seasons,  and  bade  them  be  His  witnesses  in  all  the 
world.  These  last  farewells  must  have  been  uttered  in 
some  of  the  wild  secluded  upland  country  that  surrounds 
the  little  village  ;  and  when  they  were  over.  He  lifted  up 
His  hands  and  blessed  them,  and,  even  as  He  blessed  them, 
was  parted  from  them,  and  as  He  passed  from  before  their 
yearning  eyes  ''a  cloud  received  Him  out  of  their  sight" 
(Luke  xxiv.  50,  51  ;  Acts  i.  6-9). 

Between  us  and  His  visible  presence — between  us  and 
that  glorified  Redeemer  who  now  sitteth  at  the  right  hand 
of  Ood— that  cloud  still  rolls.  But  the  eye  of  Faith  can 
pierce  it ;  the  incense  of  true  prayer  can  rise  above  it ; 
through  it  the  dew  of  blessing  can  descend.  And  if  He  is 
gone  away,  yet  He  has  given  us  in  His  Holy  Spirit  a  nearer 
sense  of  His  presence,  a  closer  infolding  in  the  arms  of  His 
tenderness,  than  we  could  have  enjoyed  even  if  we  had 
lived  with  Him  of  old  in  the  home  of  Nazareth,  or  sailed 
with  Him  in  the  little  boat  over  the  crystal  waters  of  Gen- 
nesareth.  We  may  be  as  near  to  Him  at  all  times — and 
more  than  all  when  we  kneel  down  to  pray — as  the  beloved 
disciple  was  when  he  laid  his  head  upon  His  breast.  The 
Word  of  God  is  very  nigh  us,  even  in  our  mouths  and  in 
onr  hearts.  To  ears  that  have  been  closed  His  voice  may 
seem  indeed  to  sound  no  longer.     The  loud  noises  of  War 


526  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

may  shake  the  world  ;  tlie  calls  of  Avarice  and  of  Pleasure 
may  drown  the  gentle  utterance  which  bids  us  "Follow 
Me  ;"  after  two  thousand  years  of  Cliristianity  the  in- 
credulous murmurs  of  an  impatient  skepticism  may  make 
it  scarcely  possible  for  Faith  to  repeat,  without  insult,  tlie 
creed  which  has  been  the  regeneration  of  the  world.  Ay, 
and  sadder  even  than  this,  every  now  and  tlien  may  be 
heard,  even  in  Christian  England,  the  insolence  of  some 
blaspheming  tongue  which  still  scoffs  at  the  Son  of  God  as 
He  lies  in  the  agony  of  the  garden,  or  breathes  His  last 
sigh  upon  the  bitter  tree.  But  the  secret  of  the  Lord  is 
with  them  that  fear  Hitn,  aiui  He  will  show  them  His  cov- 
enant. To  all  who  will  listen  He  still  speaks.  He  promised 
to  be  with  us  always,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and  we 
have  not  found  His  promise  fail.  It  was  but  for  thirty- 
three  short  years  of  a  short  lifetime  that  He  lived  on 
earth  ;  it  was  but  for  three  broken  and  ti'oubled  years  that 
He  preached  the  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom  ;  but  forever, 
even  until  all  the  ^ons  have  been  closed,  and  the  earth 
itself,  with  the  heavens  that  now  are,  have  passed  away, 
shall  everyone  of  His  true  and  faithful  children  find  peace 
and  hope  and  forgiveness  in  His  name,  and  that  name  shall 
be  called  Emmanuel,  which  is,  being  interpreted, 

"God  with  us/' 


INDEX. 


Abgarus  V,  King  of  Edessa,  tra- 
dition regarding,  381. 

Ablutions  before  meals,  not  ob- 
served bv  our  Lord's  disciples. 
239;  of  the  leading  Jews,  239. 

Aceldama  ('"Field  of  Blood"), 
474. 

Adam,  skull  of,  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  496. 

Adulteress,  decision  in  the  case  of 
an,  296-303. 

^nou,  near  Salim,  109. 

Age  of  Christ  at  His  baptism  by 
John,  61. 

Agony  in  the  garden,  444. 

Allegories  and  Parables,  311. 

Alms-giving,  408. 

Ambition  of  the  disciples  rebuked, 
283. 

Andrew,  calling  of,  77,  78. 

Andrew,  Greek  name  of,  135. 

"Angel  to  the  Shepherds,"  chapel 
of  the,  1. 

Anna,  the  prophetess,  11. 

Annas  (Hanan),  362,  455,  456; 
Christ's  trial  before,  455-459; 
his  share  in  the  guilt  of  the 
death  of  Christ,  458  ;  his  end, 
491. 

Antipas,  son  of  Herod  the  Great, 
25 ;  character  and  career  of, 
207-214  ;  gives  a  banquet,  at 
which  Salome  dances.  210,211; 
wishes  to  see  Christ,  212;  spoken 
of  as  "  that  fox  "  by  Christ,  317; 
Christ  sent  by  Pi'late  to,  479; 
his  end,  491. 

Antonio,  Tower  of,  314. 

Apocryphal  (lospels — their  char- 
acter, 29. 


Apocryphal  History  of  Joseph  the 
Carpenter,  51. 

Apostles,  the  calling  of  the  first, 
75-85 ;  enumerated  and  char- 
acterised, 134-136;  sent  out  two 
and  two,  194-196;  return  from 
their  mission,  212  ;  que.stioned 
by  Christ  as  to  their  belief  in 
Him,  268,  269;  their  misunder- 
standing of  Christ's  mission, 
272;  dispute  as  to  which  is  to 
be  the  greatest,  283;  Christ  ap- 
pears after  His  resurrection  to 
ten  of  the,  520. 

Appearance  of  our  Lord,  tradi 
tional  account  of  the,  79,  80. 

Archelaus,  25,  27. 

Arimathsea,  513. 

Ascension,  the,  525. 

Asceticism,  56. 

Authority,  Christ's,  387. 

Baptism,  by  John,  of  Christ,  61, 
62;  by  Christ's  disciples,  109. 

Baptism  of  John,  from  Heaven  or 
of  men  ?  388. 

Bar- Abbas,  485,  486. 

Bar-jona:  see  Peter. 

Barley- loaves:  see  Five  thousand. 

Bartholomew  identified  with  Na- 
thanael,  81,  134. 

Bartimaeus,  blind,  and  his  com- 
panion healed,  366. 

Beelzebul,  247:  see  also  Devil. 

"  Beside  himself,"  our  Lord  con- 
sidered, 150. 

Bethany,  Christ  at  the  house  of 
Lazarus  at,  341  et  seg. ;  the  last 
evening  at,  416. 

Bethlehem,  4,  25. 


5.28 


INDEX. 


Betliesdrt,     Pool    of,     198,    199  ; 

Christ's  miracle  there,  199. 
Bethphage,  375. 
Bethsaida,       or       "Fish-hou.se" 

{Bethsaida  Julias),  305,  267. 
Bethsaida  ( Western),  145. 
Blind  man,  at   Bethsaida.  healed; 

267 ;    blind    from     his     birth. 

healed.  307-310. 
Bloody  flux  healed.  189,  190.  j 

Boat,  Christ  preaches  from  a,  130.  ' 
Body  of   Christ  after  the   Resur-  : 

rection,  520.  i 

Boyhood  of  Christ,  26-34.  | 

Brahe,  Tycho,  star  seen  by,  15.      I 
Bread  of  life,  Jesus  the,  223.  ; 

Brethren  of  Je.sus,  51,  52;  they  try  ; 

to    assert   a   claim    on   Christ's 

actions,    174 ;  desire    to    speak  i 

with  Jesus,  250.  j 

Burial,    Eastern,  359  ;  of   Christ, 

515.  I 

Caesar,  rights  of,  395  et  seq.  ' 

Caesarea  Philippi,  267.  | 

Caiaphas,  the   civil    High    Priest,  j 

362,  363,   461  ;  meeting   in   the  ! 

palace  of,  417   et  seq. ;  Christ's  1 

trial    before,  461-464;   the   end  i 

of,  491.  i 

Calvary  (Golgotha),  496.  j 

Cana  of   Galilee,  marriage  in,  86  i 

et  seq.  \ 

Capernaum,  the  earliest  center  of  i 

Christ's  ministry,  92;  described,  I 

92    et    seq.;    site    of,    97,    98; 

Christ  makes  it  His  home  after 

leaving  Cana,  125;  Christ's  first 

Sabbath  there,  125  et  seq. ;  dis-  | 

course  at,  221-228.  | 

Caravanserai,   or  Khan,  Eastern,  i 

2,3.  I 

Carpenter,  Christ  as  a,  43,  44.         ! 

Cave,  a,  the  scene  of  the  Nativity,  I 

3.      .  ■   ; 

Celibacy,  the  question  of,  351. 
Census,  in  time  of  Augustus,  4. 
Centurion's    servant,    healing    of 

the,  147,  148. 
Children  blessed,  352.  353. 
Children  of  the  devil,  306. 
Chorazin,  265. 


"Christ,"  meaning  of  the  name, 

10;  see  Jesus. 
Christianity,  its  character,  142. 
Chronology:  sc^  Order  of  ICvents. 
Circumcision  of  Christ,  8,  9. 
[  Cities,  Oriental,  415. 
j  Claudia    Procula,   wife   of   Pilot, 

483. 
Cleopas,  519. 
Commandment,  the  greatest,  400, 

402. 
Commandment,  the  new,  435. 
Counting  the  cost,  323. 
Council:  see  Sanhedrin. 
Cross,size  and  structure  of  the,493. 
Crown  of  thorns,  the,  487. 
Crucifixion  of  Christ,  493-512. 
Crucifixion  as  a  punishment,  493, 

497  et  seq. 
Cyrenius  (P.  Sulp.  Quirinus),  4. 

Dancers  and  dancing-women,  210. 
David,  Christ  the  Son  of,  403. 
Dead  to  bury  their  dead,  175. 
Deaf  man  with  an  impediment  in 

his  speech  cured,  260  . 
Death,  the  fear  of,  447. 
Decapolis,  the  regions  of,  Christ's 

visit  to,  260,  261. 
Dedication,    Feast    of    the,    312, 

341;  founded  by  Judas   Macca- 

baeus,  344;  Christ  at  the,  344. 
Demoniac,  a,  cured  at  Capernaum, 

126;    blind  and   dumb,    cured, 

246;  boy,  280  et  seq. 
Demoniacal  possession,  181,  182. 
Descendants  of  David,  the,  21. 
Devil,  our  Lord  accused  of  being 

in  league  with  the,  246,  247. 
Didymus:  see  Thomas. 
Disciples,    Christ    appears    after 

His   resurrection  to  more  than 

five  hundred,  524:  see  also  Sev- 
enty disciples,  the. 
"  Disprepancies  "  in  the  narrative 

of  Christ's  trial,  etc.,  454  et  seq. 
Divorce,  the   question   of,  348   et 

seq. 
Dove,  the   offering   of  the   poor, 

100. 
Doves,  Valley  of,  94. 
Dress  of  Christ,  166. 


INDEX. 


520 


Dropsy,  Man   afflicted   with   the, 
healed,  329  et  seq. 

Eagle,  the,  a  Roman  symbol,  -114. 
Easter,  Jerusalem  at,  98. 
Education  of  Christ,  45  et  seq. 
Egypt,  flight  into,  8,  9,  18  et  seq. 
Elias  at   Christ's  transfiguration, 

278;  Jewish  expectation  of,  279. 
Emmaus,  Christ  appears  after  His 

resurrection  to  two  disciples  on 

their  way  to,  519. 
En-gannim    (the     ' '  Fountain    of 

Gardens  "),  322. 
Enemies,  loving  one's,  139. 
Enthusiasm    and    madness,    148, 

149. 
Ephraim,    Christ    retires    to    the 

village  of,  363. 
Evangelists,    evidence   of  the,  8; 

faithf uUness  of  the,  66. 
Evil  Counsel,  Hill  of,  375. 
Excommunication  of  Christ,  prob- 
able, 310. 
Exorcism  of  demons,  246. 

Faith,  all  things  possible  to  a  per- 
fect, 281. 
Fasting  of  Christ,  68;  sanctioned 

by   Christ,    68 ;  His  answer   to 

John's  disciples  regarding,  187, 

228. 
Feast,  the  dav  of  Matthew's,  184- 

192. 
Feast,    unnamed,    the    Feast    of 

Purim,  197. 
Feet,  washing  the  disciples',  426, 

427. 
Fig-tree  cursed,  384-387,  393. 
Fig-tree,  custom  of  pious  Jews  to 

pray  under  a,  83. 
"  Fishers  of  men,"  131. 
Fishes,    miraculous    draught  of, 

130,  521. 
Five  thousand,   feeding  of    the, 

214,  217. 
Fool,  parable  of  the  Rich,  255. 
Forgiveness    of    siHS    by   Christ, 

161,  185,  227,  228. 
Forgiveness,  the  lesson  of,  284. 
Fringes  of  Jewish  garments.,  190. 
Gadarene  demoniac,  the,  179,  180. 


Gadarenes  —  the  treatment  of 
Christ,  183. 

Galilaeau  ministry  of  Christ  com- 
mencement of,  122  et  seq. 

Galilseans  massacred,  313,  314, 
476. 

Galilee  described,  26  ;  the  estima- 
tion in  which  was  held,  34; 
modern  Jews  and,  296. 

Galilee,  our  Lord's  life  in,  164- 
171;  His  farewell  to'  312. 

Galilee,  Sea  of:  see  Gennesareth. 

Garments  of  Jesus,  divisions  of 
the,  500. 

Gehenna,  254. 

Gemara,  243. 

Gennesareth,  Lake  of,  94 ;  sea- 
fight  on  the,  319;  our  Lord  ap- 
pears after  His  resurrection  at 
the,  521. 

Gennesareth,  Land  of,  94. 

Gentiles,  Court  of  the,  40,  100, 
380. 

Gergesenes,  their  treatment  of 
Christ,  183. 

Gerizim,  Mount,  113. 

Gethsemaue,  Garden  of,  442  et 
seq. 

Glutton,  a,  and  a  wine-drinker, 
our  Lord  charged  with  being, 
228. 

Golgotha  (Calvary)  496. 

Gospels,  character  of  the,  6. 

Governor  of  the  feast,  the,  89. 

Greek,  learning,  48. 

Greeks,  some,  desire  an  interview 
with  Jesus,  381. 

Hanna:  sec  Annas. 

Hattin,  Horns  of,  the  probable 
scene  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  133. 

Health  of  Christ's  life,  169. 

"Herald  Angel,"  Chapel  of  the, 
2. 

Herod  Antipas:  see  Antipas. 

Herod  Archelaus:  see  Archelaus. 

Herod  the  Great,  12,  20;  saying 
of  the  Emperor  Augustus  on 
Herod's  cruelty,  22. 

Herodians  conspire  with  the  Phar- 
isees to  tempt  Christ,  894. 


530 


INDEX. 


Herodias  carried  o£F  by  Herod 
Antipas,  207 ;  bates  jobn  tbe 
Baptist,  209  ;  accouiplisbes  bis 
murder,  211;  ber  future  career, 
214. 

Higb  Priest:  see  Annas,  Caiapbas. 

Hillel,  one  of  tbe  founders  of  tbe 
Masorab,  40 ;  views  of  bis 
scbool  on  divorce,  849. 

Hospitality,  Oriental,  159,  194. 

Husbandmen  in  tbe  vine-vard,  tbe 
rebellious,  390. 

Hyssop,  507. 

Infancy  of  Cbrist,  events  of  tbe, 

8. 
Innocents,  Massacre  of  tbe,  20  et 

seq. 
Inscription  on  tbe  cross,  499,  500. 

Jacob's  Well,  111  ;  its  situation, 
114. 

Jairus'  daugbter  raised,  191,  192. 

James,  St.,  tbe  Apocrypbal  Gos- 
pel of,  on  Cbrist's  Nativity,  7. 

James,  tbe  son  of  Zebedee,  an 
apostle,  135. 

James,  tbe  Less,  134. 

Jealousy,  water  of,  298. 

Jericbo,  366-368. 

Jerome,  St.,  3. 

Jerusalem,  Cbrist  vi^eeps  over, 
376,  377  ;   destruction   of,    377,  i 

406,  414   et  seq.;    lamentation 
over,  405;  number  of  Jews  wbo  | 
perisbed  in  tbe  destruction  of, 

407.  I 
"Jesus,"  tbe  name,  10.  1 
Jesus,  birtb  of,  1-8  ;  tbe   Son  of  ; 

David,  403  ;  circumcision,  9  ;  ' 
presentation  in  tbe  Temple,  8- 
11;  carried  to  Egypt,  18  et  seq.; 
boybood  of,  26  et  seq.;  among 
tbe  doctors,  39  ;  His  education, 
45  et  seq. ;  His  trade,  43  ;  His 
baptism,  61,  62  ;  temptation  of, 
63-74  ;  His  first  miracle,  85-92; 
His  first  cleansing  of  tbe  Tem- 
ple, 98-106 ;  visits  tbe  syna- 
gogue at  Nazaretb,  118-120; 
Sermon  on  tbe  Mount,  133-144; 
His    life   in    Galilee,  1G5 ;    His 


dress,  166;  His  aspect,  166;  His 
life  a  life  of  poverty,  simplicity, 
toil,  bealtb,  sorrow,  joy,  167- 
169;  sends  out  tbe  Twelve  on  a 
missionary  journey,  194-197 ; 
feeds  tbe  five  tbousand,  214- 
217 ;  His  transfiguration,  276- 
280;  at  tbe  Feast  of  tbe  Taber- 
nacles, 288-296  ;  sends  out  tbe 
Seventy,  317,  318;  at  tbe  Feast 
of  Dedication,  344  et  seq.; 
raises  Lazarus,  357,  358  ;  His 
second  cleansing  of  tbe  Temple, 
379 ;  His  la.st  supper,  423  ; 
wasbes  tbe  disciples'  feet,  426; 
examination  and  trial  of,  454  et 
seq.;  scourged  and  mocked,  486, 
487;  crucifixion  of,  493,  512; 
His  resurrection,  516;  last  ap- 
pearances of,  517-525  ;  ascen- 
sion of,  525;  traditional  sayings 
of,  236. 

Jewisb  race,  avarice  of  tbe,  332. 

Jewisb  youtb,  education  of  a,  36. 

Jews :  see  Sanbedrin,  Scribes, 
Pbarisees,  Sadducees,  etc. 

Joanna,  tbe  wife  of  Cbuza,  Her- 
rod's  steward,  122. 

Jobn  tbe  Baptist  and  bis  mission, 
55-62  ;  be  points  out  Jesus  as 
tbe  Messiab,  75,76;  bis  bap- 
tism of  repentance,  109;  bis  tes- 
timony, 110  ;  sends  a  message 
to  Cbrist,  151  ;  in  prison,  153; 
Cbrist  eulogises,  155-156;  sum- 
moned before  Herod,  208;  mur- 
dered, 212;  buried,  212. 

Jobn's  disciples  question  Cbrist  as 
to  fasting,  185,186. 

Jobn,  tbe  son  of  Zebedee,  calling 
of,  75  ;  bis  intimate  association 
witb  Cbrist,  135;  bis  cbaracter, 
136;  at  Cbrist's  grave,  516. 

Josepb  of  Arimatbaea.  428,  514. 

Josepb,  busband  of  tbe  Virgin, 
tradition  regarding  a  former 
marriage  of,  51. 

Josepbus — bis  so-called  allusion 
to  Christ,  23. 

Joy  of  Christ's  life,  170,  171. 

Jude,  135. 

Judas   Iscariot,    an   apostle,    130; 


INDEX. 


rA 


his  treachery  foretold  bv  Christ, 
237  ;  Ills  avarice,  372;  bargains 
to  betray  Christ,  o73,  374,  419. 
433 ,  his  motive  for  betraying 
Christ,  430,  421;  his  end,  473. 

Judas  the  Asmonaeau,  344. 

Judgment,  the  Day  of,  414,  415. 

J  ustin  Martyr,  3. 

Kena  el-Jelil.  164. 

Kedron,  brook  of,  442  ;  valley  of 

378. 
Kefr  Kenna,  164. 
Kepler  on  the  "  Star  in  the  East," 

16. 
Keys,  the  power  of  the,  270,  271. 
Khan,  Eastern  :  see  Caravanserai. 
Kingdom  of  God,  coming  of  the, 

339,  340. 
King's  Banquet,   parable   of  the, 

333. 
Kiss,  Christ  betrayed  with  a,  450. 

Labor  ennoliled  by  Christ,  43;  of 

His  life,  169. 
Laborers  in  the  Vineyard,  parable 

of  the,  356. 
Languages  spoken  and  known  by 

Christ,  47,  48. 
Last   Supper,    the,   423^34 ;   not 

the  ordinary  Jewish  Passover, 

423. 
Last    things,    discourse    of    the, 

411-416. 
Law,  written  and  traditional,  243. 
Law  vers  rebuked  by  Christ,  253, 

253. 
Lazarus,    conjectures    regarding, 

341,  454;  raising  of,  357-360. 
Leprosy,   145,  325;  Christ  said  to 

l)e  a  leper,  79;  a  leper  cleansed, 

145  ;  sacerdotal  cleansing,   146; 

ten  healed,  325. 
Life  (Christ's)   on  earth  a  life  of 

poverty,  simplicity,  toil,  health, 

and  sorrow,  167-169. 
Life,  eternal,  how  to  inherit,  354, 

355. 
Lilies,  the,  alluded  to  in  the  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount,  140. 
Locusts,    the   food   of    John    the 

Baptist,  59. 


Light  of  the  World.  305. 
Luther  on  the  child-life  of  Christ, 
33. 

Machferu.s,  150. 

Madness  and  enthusiam,  148,  149, 

Magdala  {El  Mejdel),  163,  362; 
see  also  Mary  Magdalene. 

Magi,  the  visit  of  the,  8,  9.  12-18. 

Malchus  has  his  ear  cut  off,  453. 

Manaen,  the  foster-brother  of 
Herod,  122. 

Manners,  domestic,  in  the  East, 
158. 

"Manger" — what  the  word  rep- 
resents, 7. 

Maniacs,  treatment  of,  179, 180. 

Marriage  and  celibacy,  351. 

Marriage  at  Cana,  85. 

Martha,  sister  of  Lazarus,  conjec- 
tures regarding,  341 ;  her  char- 
acter. 342. 

Mary  Magdalene  identified  with 
the  woman  in  the  house  of 
Simon  the  Pharisee,  162-163; 
at  Christ's  tomb,  515;  Christ 
appears  to.  517,  518. 

Mary,  sister  of  Lazarus,  341-343, 
358  ;  anoints  Christ's  head  and 
feet,  371,  372. 

Mary,  the  Vii'gin,  at  the  Cruci- 
fixion. 504. 

Matthew,  the  Evangeli.st,  called, 
131,  133;  gives  a  feast,  185. 

Megiddo,  331. 

"  Messiah,"  meaning  of  the  name, 
103. 

Messianic  prophecies   not   undei 
stood  by  the  Jews,  167,  333. 
i  Miracle,  the  first,  89. 

Miracles,  how   to   be  viewed,  89- 
j      92. 

I  Miracles  :  see  separate  entries — 
Blind  Man;  Bloody  Flux;  Cen- 
turion's Servant ;  Deaf  Man  ; 
Demoniac,  etc.,  etc. 

Mission  of   the   twelve   Apostles, 
I      194. 

I  Missionary  success,  first  essentials 
I      of,  195. 

I  Mob,  Christ  calms  the  fury  of  the, 
I      121,  307,  346. 


532 


INDEX. 


Misbna,  the,  243,  401. 

Monday  of   Passion   Week,    384r- 

393. 
Money,  Lost  Piece  of,  parable  of 

the,  338. 
Moses,  at  Christ's  transfiguration, 

278. 
Mount,  Sermon  on  the,  133,  138- 

144. 
Mountain,      Christ      retires      for 

prayer  to  a,  133,  217. 
Mountain  of  Beatitudes,  524. 
Mourning,  Hebrew,  190. 

Nain    described,   150 ;    rai.sing  of 

the  widow's  son  at,  151. 
Nathanael,  the  Apostle,  calling  of, 

81. 
Nativity,  Church  and  Convent  of 

the,  3. 
Nativity  of  Christ,  1-8. 
"Nazarene,"  a  term  of  contempt, 

33. 
Nazarenes  reject  Christ,  116-122. 
Nazareth  described.  27,  28;  Christ's 

home-life  there,  42-55. 
Nicodemus,  the  conversation  with, 

106-108;  speaks   in   defense   of 

Christ,  296  ;  at  Christ's  burial, 

514. 
Nobleman's  son,  healing  of  the, 

117. 

Olives,  Mount  of,  297,  411;  Christ's 
discourse  on  the,  411-415. 

Opposition  to  Christ's  teaching, 
227,  242,  243-351. 

Order  of  events  in  Christ's  min- 
istry, 115,  123,  172,  193,  194, 
312,  313. 

Palestine,  the  physical  geography 
of,  26,27. 

Parables,  Christ's  teaching  in,  172, 
173:  see  separate  entries — Fool, 
parable  of  the  Rich,  255;  Money, 
Lost  Piece  of,  338;  Sheep,  Lost, 
338;  Prodigal  Son,  231,  338; 
Pharisee  and  Publican,  338 ; 
Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,  334 ; 
Samaritan,  parable  of  the  Good, 
388;  Unjust  Steward,  333. 


Palm  Sunday,  374-383. 

Paralytic,  the  healed,  185. 

Paschal  Lamb,  424.  513. 

Passover,  vast  crowds  at  Jerusa- 
lem at  the  celeln-ation  of  the, 
38,  99;  the  first  of  Christ's  min- 
istry, lUl  ct  seq. ;  of  the  Samari- 
tans at  the  present  day,  432; 
Jewish  manner  of  celebrating 
the,  432;  number  of  lambs  sacri- 
ficed at  the,  424. 

Paul,  Christ  is  seen  by,  584. 

Paulus  on  the  miracle  of  the  trib- 
ute-money, 287. 

Peraea,  178,  322;  Christ's  last  stay 
in,  348-357. 

Personal  appearance  of  our  Lord, 
78,  79,  166. 

Peter  the  Apostle,  calling  of,  77; 
his  intimate  association  with 
our  Lord,  135 ;  his  character, 
136;  his  house  at  Capernaum, 
184;  his  boldness  and  failure 
on  the  Lake  of  Gennesareth, 
219,  220;  his  profession  of  be- 
lief, 226,  269,  270;  rebukes 
Christ,  273,  274;  denies  Christ 
with  oaths.  465,  474;  his  repent- 
ance, 469;  at  Christ's  grave,  516; 
Christ  appears  to,  519;  Christ's 
last  charge  to,  521,  522. 

Pharisee  and  the  Publican,  para- 
ble of  the,  338. 

Pharisee,  Christ  at  the  house  of 
a,  251  et  seq.,  329. 

Pharisees,  murmuring  of  the,  185, 
227,  228;  demand  a  sign,  249; 
rebuked  by  Christ,  252;  become 
Christ's  deadly  opponents,  253; 
disciples  warned  against  the, 
265  ;  intense  pride  of  the,  331 ; 
wish  Christ  to  declare  plainly 
whether  He  be  the  Messiah, 
347 ;  conspire  with  the  Hero- 
dians,  394;  their  hypocrisy  de- 
nounced by  Christ,  239,  405, 
406;  seven  classes  of,  405. 

Philip  the  apostle,  calling  of,  80. 

Philo,  contemporary  of  Christ, 
46. 

Physical  cause  of  the  death  of 
Christ,  512. 


INDEX. 


533 


Phylacteries,  166,  400. 

Pilate,    career    of,    474-476 ;    his 

massacre  of  the  Galilaeaus,  313; 

Jesus  before,  477-491 ;  his  end, 

491. 
Plow,  putting  one's  hand  to   the, 

176. 
Pounds,  parable  of  the,  369. 
Poverty  sanctitied  bv    Christ,  42; 

of  His  life,  167. 
Prietoriuni,   Herod's,  476. 
Prayer,  the  Lord's,  taught  to  His 

disciples,  243. 
Precepts,  the  283  affirmative  and 

415  negative.  400. 
Presentation    in  the  Temple,  the, 

8-12. 
Prodigal  Son,  parable  of  the,  231, 

338. 
Prophecies   regarding  the  coming 

of  Christ,  13. 
Prophetic  warnings,  Christ's,  413. 
Publicans,  the,  despised  and  hated, 

131,  132  ;  Chri.st's  keeping  com- 
pany with,  a  source  of  offense, 

230." 
Purification,  rite  of,  9,  10  ;  of  the 

Temple  by  Christ,  100,  376. 
Purim,  Feast  of,  197. 

Quarantania,  by  tradition  the 
scene  of  Christ's  temptation,  63. 

Kabinical  schools  and  their  teach- 
ing, 400,  401. 

Rabbis  consulted  in  cases  of  doubt 
and  difficulty,  299. 

Raphael's  picture  of  the  "Trans- 
figuration," 280. 

Receipt  of  Custom,  a,  at  or  near 
Capernaum,  131,  132. 

'Reioicing  in  .spirit"  of  Christ, 
320. 

Resurrection,  the,  516  et  fieq.\ 
views  of  the  Sadducees  on  the, 
399. 

Rich  Man  and  l.Azarus,  parable  of 
the,  .334. 

Riches  and  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven,  355,  356. 

Roman  tribute  and  taxes,  131. 

Ruler,  the  young,  354,  855. 


Sabbath,  Christ  held  to  have  vio- 
lated the,  201-203,  233-239,  308. 
326-330;  Jewish  observance  of 
the,  201,  233-236. 

Sabbath,  preceding  Christ's  cele- 
bration of  the  Passover,  370. 

Sadducees,  the  disciples  warned 
against  the,  265;  views  on  the 
resurrection  held  by  the,  399. 

Salome,  daughter  of  Herodias, 
dances  before  Herod,  210  ;  her 
traditional  end,  214. 

Salome,  the  nmther  of  James  and 
John — her  request  for  her  sons, 
365. 

Samaria,  the  woman  of,  110-115. 

Samaritan,  (lood,  parable  of  the, 
336. 

Samaritans  hated  by  the  Jews, 
112;  their  hopes  of  the  Messiah, 
114. 

Sanhedrin,  11;  sends  a  deputation 
to  John  the  Baptist,  60;  watches 
the  movements  of  Jesus,  293; 
its  meeting  after  the  raising  of 
Lazarus,  362  ;  sends  a  deputa- 
tion to  Christ,  387-392;  consti- 
tution of  the,  461,  465;  Christ's 
trial  before  the,  469-472. 

Scourging  of  Christ,  488. 

Scribe,  a,  offers  to  follow  Christ, 
175,  176. 

Scribes,  teaching  of  the,  141  ; 
their  motive  for  desiring  the 
death  of  Christ,  459. 

Sea,  Christ's  walking  on  the,  219. 

Seizure  of  Christ,  449-453. 

Self-sacrifice,  the  law  of,  275. 

Sermon  on  the  Mount,  133,  138- 
144. 

Seventy  Disciples,  the,  313;  sent 
out,  317;  return  of  the,  337. 

Shammai  on  divorce,  348,  349;  on 

tlie  Sabbath.  234. 
Sheep,  Lost,  ])arable  of  the,  338. 
Sliemaia  (Sameas),  471. 
Shepherds,  announcement  to  the, 

1.  2;  they  go  to  the  inn.  5. 
Sidon:  xi'f  Tyre  and  Sidon. 
Siloaui,  Pool  of,  307. 
Siloam,  tower  in,  315. 
Sign   from  heaven,  a,   demanded 


534 


INDEX. 


by  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees, 
263. 

Simeon,  10. 

Simon,  a  common  name  among 
the  Jews,  157. 

Simon  of  Cyrene,  494. 

Simon's  wife's  mother  healed, 
127. 

Simon  the  leper,  345,  361,  370. 

Simon  the  Pharisee,  the  feast  at 
the  house  of,  157-163. 

Simplicity  of  Christ's  life,  167. 

Sinners  and  Publicans,  Christ's 
keeping  company  Avith  a  source 
of  offense,  229. 

Society,  state  of,  at  the  time  of 
Christ's  coming,  55. 

Solomon's  Porch,  344. 

Sons  of  Thunder,  the,  323. 

Sons,  parable  of  the  Two,  389. 

Sorrow  of  Christ's  life,  169. 

Sound  of  word's,  importance  at- 
tached by  the  Hebrews  to  the, 
33,  78. 

Sower,  parable  of  the,  172. 

Star  in  the  East,  conjectures  re- 
specting the,  14-17. 

Steward,  Unjust,  parable  of  the, 
333. 

Stoning,  attempted,  of  Christ,  307, 
346. 

Stone  which  the  builders  reject- 
ed, the,  390. 

Storm  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee 
stilled  by  Christ,  176,  177. 

Superstition  and  incredulity,  481. 

Supper,  Last;  tiee  Last  Supper. 

Swine,  the  herd  of,  at  the  curing 
of  the  Gadarene  demoniac,  180. 

Svchar,  near  Jacob's  Well,  111, 
'118. 

Sycamore  tree,  368. 

t-iynagogues,  Jewish,  and  their 
services,  described,  118 ;  one 
built  by  the  centurion  at  Caper- 
naum, 147. 

'■  Synoptical  Gospels,"  the,  75, 
361. 

Syro- Phoenician  woman,  the,  and 
her  demoniac  daughter,  257. 

Tabernacles,   Feast  of,    Christ  at 


the,  288  et  seq. ;  described,  289, 
293,  298,  304. 

Tabor,  Mount,  276,  524. 

Talents,  parable  of  the,  415. 

Talmud,  the,  243  ;  on  the  life  of 
Christ,  459;  on  His  death,  470. 

Taxes,  capitation,  their  lawful- 
ness, 395. 

Teaching  of  Jesus  not  borrowed, 
46;  its  character,  97,  141. 

Temple,  Jesus  in  the,  35-42;  fre- 
quented by  merchants  and 
money-changers,  100  ;  purifica- 
tion by  Christ,  101;  described, 
102,  408;  second  cleansing  by 
Christ,  379;  Christ  fortells  the 
destruction  of  the,  413;  vail  of 
the,  rent,  508. 

"  Temple  of  His  body,"  Christ 
speaks  of  the,  102. 

Temptation  of  Christ  in  the  wil- 
derness, 63-74. 

Temptations  of  our  Lord,  other, 
68. 

Thief,  the  repentant,  on  the  cross, 
502;  legend  concerning  the,  503. 

Thieves  executed  with  Christ, 
two.  493,  502. 

Thirst  at  crucifixion,  507. 

Thirty  pieces  of  silver,  the,  374. 

Thomas,  the  Apostle,  135 ;  his 
unbelief  cured,  520. 

Tiberias,  town  of,  94-96. 

Tiberius,  Roman  Emperor,  73. 

Tombs,  the  dwelling  of  demoniacs, 
179;  Jewish,  395,  515. 

Torah,  the,  402. 

Traditional  sayings  of  Christ, 
236. 

Transfiguration,  the,  276-280. 

Traveling  in  the  East,  4. 

Tribute-money,  the  miracle  of 
the,  285-287. 

Tribute  to  Csesar:  see  Taxes. 

Triumphal  entry  into  Jerusalem, 
376-379. 

Twelfth  year,  the,  of  a  Jewish 
boy,  35. 

Tyre  and  Sidon,  Christ  visits,  257. 

Vine  and  Branches,  similitude  of 
the,  440. 


INDEX. 


535 


Via  Dolorosa,  494. 

Virgins,  parable  of  tlie  Ten,  415. 

Washing  the  hands  and  feet  in 

the  East,  89. 
Washing    the    hands   by   Pilate, 

491. 
Water  in  the  East,  111. 
"Water  of  jealousy,"  ordeal  of, 

298. 
Water  of  Life,  112. 
Weddings,  Oriental,  85. 
Wedding-feast,    parable    of    the, 

391 
Widow,  the  sevenfold,  398. 
Widow,  the  poor,  and  her  alms, 

408. 
"Woman,"  the  address,  89. 
Woe  denounced  against  Chorazin, 

Bethsaida,  etc.,  266,  318;  against 


the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  404- 
406. 

Woman  with  an  alabaster  box  of 
spikenard  at  Simon  the  Phari- 
see's house,  159  ;  see  also  Mary 
Magdalene. 

Woman,  infirm,  healed,  326. 

Woman  with  issue  of  blood 
healed  by  Jesus,  191. 

Woman  taken  in  adultery,  Christ's 
decision  in  the  case  of,  296-304. 

Women  at  the  Feast  of  the  Pass- 
over, 36. 

Writing,  the  only  reference  to 
Christ's,  300. 

Zacchseus,  367. 
Zacharias,  405. 

Zebedee,  the  father  of  James  ana 
John,  136. 


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Shaw. 

Other  Worlds  Than  Ours.  The  plurality  of  worlds  studied 
under  the  light  of  recent  scientific  researches.  By  Richard  A. 
Proctor.  With  an  introductory  note  by  Frank  Parsons.  Portrait. 
Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Like  Huxley  and  Tyndall,  Mr.  Proctor  sees  the  poetry  of  his  subject  and 
knows  how  to  bring  the  largest  truths  within  the  comprehension  of  a  child, 
and  make  the  deepest  researches  as  interesting  to  the  general  reader  as  a 
novel.— i^raHA  Parsons. 

The  Fifteen  Decisive  Battles  of  the  World,  from  Marathon  to 
Waterloo.  By  E.  S.  Creasy,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Ancient  and  Mod- 
ern History  in  University  College,  London;  late  Fellow  of  King's 
College,  Cambridge.  With  an  introductory  note  by  Frank  Par- 
sons.    Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

So  vivid  are  his  deseriptiiHis  that  one  feels  as  though  he  were  present  at  the 
scene  himself,  listening  to  the  counsels  of  the  generals,  hearing  the  tread  of 
marching  columns,  watching  the  gleaming  spears  and  bayonets,  armies  of  in- 
fantry, charging  cavalry,  breach,  rally  and  retreat,  deafened  with  the  roar  of 
batteries,  saddened  by  the  death  of  friends,  and  flushed  with  triumph  ;  and  at 
last  the  reader  lays  the  book  away  exhausted  with  the  rush  of  feeling  through 
bis  heart.— Fra7ik  Parsons. 

The  Essays  of  Elia.  By  Charles  Lamb.  W^ith  an  introduc 
tion  and  notes  by  Alfred  Ainger,  and  a  Biographical  Sketch  of 
Charles  Lamb,  by  Henry  Morley.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

The  Essays  of  Elia  have  been  characterized  as  the  "  finest  things  for  humor, 
taste,  penetration  and  vivacity  which  have  appeared  since  the  days  of  Mon- 
taigne." In  his  bits  of  criticism  Charles  Lamb  shows  a  most  delicate  and 
acute  critical  faculty ;  in  his  few  poems,  much  grace  and  sweetness,  but  first 
and  foremost,  he  is  an  essayist  of  rare  power.  The  refined  wit,  genuine  pleas- 
antry, deep  and  tender  pathos,  and  subtle  discrimination  of  his  essays,  are  un- 
excelled by  any  compositions  in  the  language.— -ffofter^  Thorne. 

Essays.  By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  First  and  second  series. 
Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

He  exercised  a  great  power  over  men  ;  he  brought  them  wide  comfort,  and 
to  him  more  than  to  any  man  of  his  time  belongs  the  glory  of  having  taught 
them  that  life  was  worth  the  living. —/^toa/)  the  "  Qptiniism  of  Emerson,"  by  W. 
F.  Dana. 

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Usher,  A.  X.  BVRTt  66  Iteade  Street,  New  York. 


guyf  IS  mvm  «« tto^  'mvm  le^t  iggfeg. 


John  Halifax,  Gentleman.  A  Novel.  By  Miss  Mulock.  Por- 
trait.    12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  book  is  from  the  pen  of  one  who  combines  a  careful  study  of  life  with  a 
rare  genius  in  depicting  its  real  experiences,  and  who  renders  charming  even 
a  simple  story  of  actual  life,  by  the  glow  of  a  warm  and  lovmg  heart  with 
which  she  transfuses  it.— Frederick  Mynon  Cooper. 

Undine  and  Other  Tales,  By  De  La  Motte  Fouqtte.  Trans- 
lated from  the  German  by  F.  E.  BuNNETT.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Undine  has  become  a  household  book  for  old  and  young  in  Germany,  and 
has  been  translated  into  almost  every  European  language.  There  is  In  it  a 
simplicity  of  style  unsurpassed,  and  plenty  of  sweet  pathos  which  wets  the 
eyel)ut  never  wrings  the  hea.rt.— Henry  Prentice. 

Uarda,  A  Romance  of  Ancient  Egypt.  By  George  Ebers. 
Translated  from  the  German  by  Clara  Bell.  12mo,  cloth,  gilt 
top,  $1.00. 

Amid  all  the  tempest  of  passion  and  expectation  incidental  to  such  a  tale 
the  novelist  evolves  a  charming  story  of  love  and  constancy  rising  superior  to 
class  prejudices,  and  of  the  sweet  amenities  of  social  ties  and  tamily  affection, 
— Frederick  Mynon  Cooper. 

Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater  and  Selected  Essays. 

By  Thomas  De  Quincey.  Edited  with  notes  by  David  Masson, 
Professor  of  English  Literature  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 
Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

De  Quincey'3  skill  in  narration,  his  rare  pathos,  his  wide  sympathies,  the 
pomp  of  his  dream-descriptions,  his  abounding  though  subtle  humor,  commend 
nim  to  a  large  class  of  readers.— Encyclojiedia  Britannica. 

On  the  Heights.  By  Berthold  Auerbach.  Translated  from 
the  German  by  F.  E.  Bunnett.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

Auerbach  has  been  called  the  Charles  Dickenc  of  Germany.  He  is  not  only 
a  brilliant  writer  of  fiction,  but  is  at  the  same  time  a  profound  thinker  and 
elevated  moralist.  In  "  On  the  Heights,"  his  most  powerful  work,  education, 
labor,  wealth,  povertv,  and  the  relations  of  rich  and  poor;  aristocracy,  relig- 
ion and  philosophv,  the  rights  of  the  individual,  and  their  various  applications 
to  our  daily  life,  are  illumed  atid  illustrated  by  its  progress  and  development. 
It  is  a  beautiful  storv,  sad  in  its  ending,  but  free  from  any  tinge  of  coarseness 
or  sensationalism;  pure,  sweet,  warm  with  human  love  and  tenderness.  - 
Frederick  Mynon  Cooper. 

The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.  By  Sir  Edward  Bulwer-Lytton, 
Bart.     Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  fate  of  the  rich  Campanian  citv,  the  most  awful  catastrophe  which 
history  records,  supplies  a  superb  climax  to  the  story.  This  is  dramatic  and 
powerful  throughout,  and  of  absorl)ing  interest.  The  characters  arise  natur- 
ally from  the  scene  of  the  story,  and  they  move  and  speak  in  perfect  accord 
with  their  surroundings;  with  a  human  sympathy  which  easily  bridges  the 
eighteen  centuries  whit^h  have  rolled  over  the  Ixiried  city,  we  follow  with  eager 
Interest  this  tale  of  the  men  and  women  of  ancitnit  V>.^m\wX\.— Robert  Tfiorne. 

For  sale  by  all  Jiooknellern,  or  will  be  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  pub 
lisher,  A.  i.  JiURT,  6«  Itvade  Street,  New  York. 


A  Thousand  Miles  Up  The  Nile,  By  Amelia  B.  Edwakub. 
Portrait.     12mo,  illustrated,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  Mill  on  the  Floss.  By  George  Eliot.  Portrait.  ISino, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

This  is  a  chariuiuji-  story  of  middle-class  English  life,  for  which  George  Eliot 
ie  justly  celebrated.  .  .  .  "The  Mill  on  the  Floss"  commends  itself  strongly 
to  tlie  reader  Ijv  its  fine  analyses  of  motives,  its  vivid  force  in  description  and 
its  ciuality  as  a' work  of  literary  art. 

The  Adventures  of  Oliver  Twist.  By  Charles  Dickens. 
Portrait.     ISuio,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

It  is  in  the  English  puroi'hial  work-house  that  we  first  meet  Oliver,  and  his 
sufferings  while  under  the  charge  of  that  benign  creature,  Mr.  Bumble,  are 
alone  sufficient  to  secure  for  him  our  warmest  sympathy.  .  .  .  There  is 
passion  and  fieling  in  every  page  of  the  book,  and  it  can  be  read;  not  alone 
once,  but  again  and  again,  with  renewed  delight. 

The  Holy  Roman  Empire.    By  James  Bryce,  D.  C.  L.    Portrait. 

13mo.  clotb,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

"  The  Holy  Roman  Empire "'  is  a  work  of  gi-eat  learning,  and  is  universally 
conceded  to  show  a  high  degree  of  historical  power,  though  written  at  an 
early  age  it  immediately  established  the  reputation  of  the  distinguished  author 
as  oiie  of  the  most  profound  thinkers  of  the  century,  and  has  steadily  grown 
into  the  highest  favor  with  scholars. 

Daniel    Deronda.     By  George  Eliot.     Portrait.     12mo,  cloth, 

gilt  top,  $1.00. 

"  Daniel  Deronda  "  is  a  love  story,  but  at  the  same  time  a  treasure-house  of 
information  regarding  the  manners,  customs,  and  traditions  of  the  Hebrew 
race.  It  belongs  to  the  enduring  literature  of  the  age,  durable,  not  for  the 
fashionableness  of  its  pattern,  liut  for  the  texture  of  its  stuff. 

Corinne;  or,  Italy.     By  Madame  de  Stael.     Portrait.     12mo, 

cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

"  Corinne."  the  success  of  which  was  instant,  and  won  for  the  author  a  really 
European  reputation,  is  a  love  storv\\hi(h  emphasizes  strength  and  nobility 
of  character  and  puritv  of  life.  The  sct-iie  of  the  tale  is  laid  principally  in  Italy 
and  interspersed  throughout  the  narrative  are  vivid  glimpses  of  Italian  scenery, 
life,  manners,  and  its  historical  and  literary  remains. 

The  Divine  Comedy;  or,  Vision  of  Hell,  Purgatory  and  Para- 
dise. By  Daxtk  Ai.inmKKi.  Translated  V)y  the  Rev.  Henry 
Francis  Cary,  M.  A.     Portrait.     12ino,  cloth,  gilt  top.  $1.00. 

The  Divina  Comedia  is  one  of  the  grandest  monuments  of  human  genius, 
with  the  epics  of  Homer  and  Milton  it  forms  a  sujireme  trinity  of  poems,  which 
nave  summed  up  the  spirit  of  great  eras  f)f  civilization  and  formed  the  educa- 
tion of  succeeding  centuries. 

Consuelo.  By  George  Saxd.  Portrait.  12nio,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

In  the  character  of  Ponsuelo  Madame  Sand  has  pictured  for  us  a  woman  as 
chaste,  as  noble  and  as  lovable  as  any  in  all  tiction.  ..."  Consuelo  "  is  an 
ideal  romance  of  remarkable  power  and  fascination  and  it  will  long  live  a 
monument  to  its  author's  genius. 

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Usher.  A.  X,  HVRT,  60  Keade  St.,  \etc  Tork. 


Past  and  Present.  By  Thomas  Carlyle,  with  an  introductory 
note  by  Robert  Thome,  M.A.    Portrait.    13mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

His  (Carlyle's)  bidding  is  to  do  tiie  allotted  worls  of  life  silently  and  bravely, 
and  there  is  probably  no  person  who  htis  not  sained  strengtii  by  tiie  reading  of 
his  strong  and  earnest  writings.— 7?o^i';'/  Thorne. 

The  History  of  Civilization  in  Europe.  By  Francois  Pierre 
GuiLLAXJME  tiuizOT.  Translated  by  William  Hazlitt,  with  a  bio- 
graphical sketch  of  the  author.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

These  lectures  made  a  profound  impression  at  the  time  they  were  delivered 
and  published,  and  indeed  marked  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  education,  rais- 
ing tne  reputation  of  their  author  at  once  to  the  highest  point  of  fame,  and 
placing  him  among  the  best  writers  of  France  and  of  YxLTOXie.— Robert  Thorne, 

Ivanhoe.  A  Romance.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.  Reprinted 
from  the  author's  edition,  unaltered  and  unabridged.  Portrait. 
12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Ivanhoe  is  one  of  the  most  famous  and  brilliant  of  all  the  master  romances 
cf  Sir  Walter  Soott,  who  is  placed  by  many  at  the  head  of  modern  novelists. 
.  .  .  The  breadth  and  po\/er  of  Scott's  style  and  his  charm  as  a  story-teller 
are  too  well  known  to  need  comment,  and  in  this  volume  we  have  him  at  his 
hest.— Robert  Thorne. 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  The  Traveller,  and  The  Deserted 
Village.  By  Oliver  Goldsmith.  With  a  Life  of  Goldsmith  by 
William  Black.     Portrait.     13rao,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1  00. 

The  style  is  easy  and  delightful.  The  humor  is  delicate  and  all  good  humor; 
there  is  hardly  a  trace  of  satire  or  ill-nature  in  the  whole  book,  which  is  a  true 
expression  of  the  spirit  of  Goldsmith  himself,  one  of  the  most  lovable  person- 
alities in  the  world  of  letters.— ^o6«/'<  Thorne. 

The  Discourses  of  Epictetus,  with  ^he  Encheiridion  and  Frag- 
ments. Translated  with  notes,  a  life  of  Epictetus,  a  view  of  his 
philosophy,  and  index.  By  George  Long,  M.A.  Portrait.  12mo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Great  purity,  sustained  reflection,  wealth  of  illustration  and  allusion,  vivid 
revelations  of  character  and  brilliant  bursts  of  eloquence,  mark  the  utterances 
of  this  great  teacher  and  insure  their  Immortality.— J^/a//A;  Parsons. 

The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  and  Sesame  and  Lilies.  By  John 
RuSKiN,  LL.D-     Portrait.     i.2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

As  a  great  and  fearless  leader  of  thought  and  antagonistic  to  many  features 
of  our  social  order,  he  is  naturally  the  object  of  much  violent  criticism,  but  is 
warmly  admired  and  loved  by  a  great  part  of  the  reading  world,  and  coming 
ages  will  accord  him  his  due.  He  has  told  the  world  new  truth  and  the  world 
will  grow  up  to  his  majestic  siaXuvn.— Robert  Thoi-ne. 

The  Meditations  of  the  Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus. 
Translated  by  George  Long,  M.A.,  with  a  biographical  sketch  and 
a  view  of  the  philosophy  of  Antoninus  by  the  translator.  Including 
also  an  essay  on  Marcus  Aurelius  by  Canon  Farrar.  Portrait.  12mo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

"  The  noblest  book  of  antiquity"  is  Canon  Farrar's  estimate  of  the  "  Medita- 
tions of  Marcus  Aurelius ;"  and  his  regard  is  shared  by  thousands  who  have 
been  made  better  and  truer  men  by  the  ennobling  influence  of  the  great  soul 
and  lofty  character  of  *his  pagan  em\>eTor. —  liobert  Thm-ne. 

For  sale  by  ail  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  post-puid  on  receipt  qf  price,  by  the  pub- 
iit/ier,  A.  L.  JiVRT,  06  Meade  Street,  New  York. 


Faust.  By  Joiiann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe.  Complete  in  two 
parts.  Translated  by  Anna  Swan  wick.  Portrait.  Cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

Deeper  meanings  are  disoovered  with  every  reading,  and  familiarity  does 
not  cause  It  to  grow  tritf*,  but  ever  tbe  more  strongly  to  lay  hold  on  the  soul 
with  the  irresistible  fascination  of  an  eternal  problem  and  the  charm  of  an 
3ndless  variety.— i?o6t'/'<  Tliorne. 

The  Sketch-Book  of  Geoffrey  Crayon,  Gent.  By  Washington 
Irving.  With  an  introductory  note  by  Fkank  Paksons.  Portrait. 
Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  booli  is  refined,  poetical  and  picturesque,  full  of  quaint  humor,  exquis- 
ite feeling,  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  human  naiwTe.—Ftaiik  Parsms. 

Lorna  Doone.  A  Romance  of  Exmoor.  By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 
12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

These  wonderfully  reproduced  scenes,  and  the  men  and  women  with  whom 
they  are  peopled,  and  finally  the  beautiful  language  in  which  the  narrative  is 
set  forth,  unite  to  make  a  delightful,  and,  what  is  more,  a  wholesome,  invigo- 
rating, inspiring  book.— ^.  S.  Ilaives. 

Hypatia,  or  New  Foes  with  an  Old  Face.  By  Charles  Kings- 
ley,  F.S.A.,  F.L.S.     Portrait.     13mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  fl.OO. 

The  plot  is  well  developed,  the  characters  are  vigorously  drawn,  and  the 
scenes  and  incidents  show  great  dramatic  power,  while  the  language  and 
word-painting  are  exquisite.  The  book  holds  throughout,  with  a  firm  grasp, 
our  sympathy  and  Interest,  Kingsley  being  one  of  the  very  few  who  have  suc- 
ceeded in  throwing  a  strong  human  interest  into  a  historical  novei.—Ix'oOert 
Thome. 

Romola.  By  George  Eliot.  Portrait  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

George  Eliot  is  admitted  by  thoughtful  persons  to  have  been  endowed  with 
one  of  the  greatest  minds  of  this  century.  .  .  .  Romola,  which  is  one  of 
her  earlier  works,  is  also  one  of  the  most  popular.  The  movement  is  so  rapid, 
and  the  situations  are  so  dramatic,  that  the  interest  never  flags  ;  .  .  .  the 
book  has  nowhere  the  air  of  tiresome  preaching,  but  it  stands  the  test  of  a 
great  novel— it  may  be  read  again  and  again  with  pleasure.— iE'.  S.  Hawes. 

The  Data  of  Ethics.  By  Herbert  Spencer.  Portrait.  12mo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Herbert  Spencer  is  the  foremost  name  in  the  philosophic  literature  of  the 
world.  He  is  the  Shakespeare  of  science.  He  has  a  grander  grasp  of  knowl- 
edge and  more  perfect  conscious  correspondence  with  the  external  universe 
than  any  other  human  being  who  ever  looked  wonderiiigly  out  into  the  starry 
depths;  and  his  few  errors  flow  from  an  over-anxiety  to  exert  his  splendid 
power  of  making  beautiful  generalizations.  Plato  and  Spencer  are  brothers. 
Plato  would  have  done  what  Spencer  has  had  he  lived  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury.—i^mw  "  The  World's  Best  Books,"  by  Frank  Parsons. 

The  Origin  of  Species,  by  Means  of  Natural  Selection,  or  the 
Preservation  of  a  Favored  Race  in  the  Struggle  for  Life.  By 
Charles  Darwin,  M.A.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  $1.00. 

This  book  is  the  grandest  achievement  of  modern  scientific  thought  and 
research.  It  has  passed  through  many  editions  in  Eryiish,  has  been  translated 
into  almost  all  the  languages  of  Europe,  and  has  oeen  the  subject  of  more 
reviews,  pamphlets  and  separate  books  than  any  other  volume  of  the  age.— 
Jiobert  Thome. 

For  sale  bij  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  piice,  by  the  pxib- 
lisher.  A.,  i.  BTJB.X,  66  Meade  Utreet,  yew  Xork. 


Westward  Ho  1  or,  The  Voyages  and  Adventures  of  Sir 
Amyas  Leigh,  Knight.  13y  Charles  Kingsley.  Portrait.  12mo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

"  Westward  Ho  1 "  is  one  of  the  most  vigorous,  powerful,  and  fascinating  of 
novels.  It  is  strong  and  graphic  in  its  portraiture,  intense  and  dramatic  in  its 
diversified  coloring.  The  nervous  and  effective  style,  the  skillful  blending  of 
the  manifold  portraits  into  one  comprehensive  picture,  are  among  the  merits 
■which  have  made  this  Kingsley's  greatest  yfork.— Frederic  Mynoii  Cooper. 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress.  By  John  Bunyan,  with  a  life  of  Bun- 
yan  by  James  Anthony  Froude.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

No  other  book  except  the  Bible  has  gone  through  so  many  editions  and  at- 
tained to  so  wide  a  popularity  in  all  languages  as  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress." 
...  It  narrates  the  struggles,  the  experiences,  and  the  trials  of  a  Christian 
in  his  passage  from  a  life  of  sin  to  everlasting  felicity  :  and  it  abounds  with 
those  little  inimitable  touches  of  natural  feeling  and  description  which  have 
placed  its  author  among  the  most  picturesque  of  writers.  .  .  .  Bunyan  may 
truly  be  called  the  prince  of  allegorists,  and  he  is  also  the  most  perfect  repre- 
sentative of  the  plain,  vigorous,  idiomatic,  and  sometimes  picturesque  and 
poetical  language  of  the  common  people.— Taken  from  '"  A  ilaniial  of  English 
lAterature,'"  by  T.  B.  Shaw. 

Self-Help,  with  Illustrations  of  Character,  Conduct,  and  Per- 
severance. By  Samuel  Smiles.  Portrait.  r2iuo,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$1.00. 

"  Self -Help"  is  a  book  which  helps  and  stimulates  men  to  elevate  and  improve 
themselves.  It  teaches  them  that  the  humblest  person  who  sets  before  his  fel- 
lows an  example  of  industry,  sobriety,  and  upright  honesty  of  purpose  in  life, 
has  a  present  as  well  as  a  future  influence  upon  the  well-being  of  his  country. 
.  .  .  Hundreds  of  its  terse  and  happy  phrases  have  become  the  common 
property  of  mankind,  and  it  has  been  already  translated  into  four  or  five  of  the 
European  languages.— i^/«rf«/ic  Mynon  Cooper. 

Jane  Eyre.  By  Charlotte  Bronte.  Portrait.  12mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Few  novels  have  gained  such  immediate  popularity  as  was  accorded  to  "Jane 
Eyre."  This  was  doubtless  due  in  part  to  the  freshness  and  vigor  of  mind  it 
evinced  ;  but  it  was  obtained  not  so  much  by  these  qualities  as  by  the  frequent 
dealings  in  moral  paradox,  and  by  the  hardihood  of  its  assaults  upon  the  preju- 
dices of  proper  people.  Throughout  the  tale  the  author  exhibits  a  perception 
of  character  and  the  power  of  delineating  it,  which  is,  considering  her  youth, 
remarkable.— i^/'ec/«Hc  Mynon  Cooper. 

The  Moonstone.  A  Novel.  By  Wilkie  Collins.  Portrait. 
12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Like  the  generality  of  his  romances,  the  interest  of  "The  Moonstone"  depends 
chiefly  upcm  the  development  of  a  plot  whose  systematic  intricacies  pique  the 
curiosity  until  the  last  moment,  and  upon  the  concealment  of  a  mystery  which 
baffles  and  defies  solution  until  it  shall  have  contributed  to  no  end  of  cross 
purposes  and  caused  a  prodigious  amount  of  incertitude  and  wretchedness.— 
Frederic  Mynon  Cooper. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  tvill  he  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  pnb- 
llshe)\  A.  X.  BURT,  GG  Jteade  Street,  New  T»rk. 


An  Egyptian  Princess.     By  Geok(;e  Eukks.     Portrait.     IStoo, 
6loth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Kenilworth.     By  SiK  Walter  Scott,     Portrait.      12mo,  cloth, 
.'jilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  History   of  Henry  Esmond,  Esq.      By  William  Make. 
PEACE  Thackeray.     Portrait.     12ino,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Mosses  from  an   Old   Manse.      By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Portrait.     12mo,  c-lotli,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  Light    of  Asia,  or   The   Great  Renunciation.      By  EdwzM 
Arnold,  M.A.     Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Les  Miserables.     A  Novel.    By  Victor  Hugo.    Illustrated.   Two 

vols.,  12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  each  $1.00. 

The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo.     By  Alexandre  Dumas.     Illus- 
trated.    Two  vols.,  12ino,  cloth,  gilt  top,  each  $1.00, 

Heroes,  Hero-Worship  and  the  Heroic  in  History.     By  Thomas 
Carlyle.     Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Around  the  World  in  the  Yacht  Sunbeam.     By  Mrs.  Brasset. 
Portrait.     12mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

Picciola,  or  the  Prison  Flower.     By  X.  B.  Saintine.     Portrait. 
12nio,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  Scarlet  Letter.     By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.     Portrait 

12mo.  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

East  Lynne.    Ry  Mrs.  Henry  Wood.     Portrait.     12mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  $1.00. 

The  Woman  in  White.    By  Wilkie  Collins.    Portrait.    12mo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 


For  sale  bij  all  BookseUers,  or  ivill  be  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  pub^ 
lisher,  A.  X.  BURT,  66  Jteade  St.,  New  York. 


415S1 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  Saji  Diego         \ 

DATE  DUE 

i     DEC  1 2  1982 

1 

^        DEC  1 4  1981 

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UCSD  Libr. 

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